


Ashes of Time

by FallenAscendant



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, for convenience, going to be a long one, just started, lots of characters though, some OCs of course, will add more when they show up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:25:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 89,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14970998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenAscendant/pseuds/FallenAscendant
Summary: The Jedi took his life away, the Sith forced him into another but it was the Empire that gave him purpose. Glailen Reichscher learned that the galaxy is a place of many threats and little mercy. Now he’s resolved to become the deadliest of those threats and never be at the mercy of another ever again. He’s ready to fight for the Empire but is he ready for the many deadly games played by the Sith? Perhaps more importantly, how long would it take him to learn who could be trusted and who couldn’t? Would he live long enough for it to make a difference?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This would be my first time posting fan-fiction in a long time. Here's hoping it goes well. I don't know what else to say here.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A restless Sith Overseer is faced with how to deal with an initiate who was caught at a murder scene. His decision will launch one of the great tales of the Sith.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion. This was the central tenet from which the Sith Order and by extension the Empire as a whole were built upon. The Sith Code offered power unimaginable and it all began by accepting the first fundamental truth of the galaxy, the concept of peace was as worthless as the word itself. Remembering this gave all the assurance Overseer Falakan could ever need in pursuit of his duties and belief that one day the Empire would triumph totally over the weak Republic. However, a war could not be won without strong warriors to secure it.

Across the Empire the unending search for force sensitives continued and those deemed worthy enough were shipped off to facilities much like the one Overseer Falakan controlled. At one of these training facilities the fortunate citizens of the Empire began their initial training which would culminate one day, hopefully, in their becoming Sith. The training was harsh, the instructors cruel but this was necessary to forge the strongest possible generation to take up the fight. This, of course, all began with the initiates learning the Sith Code and taking it to heart. A task that, while necessary, was not without its inherent difficulties.

True Sith seek power, never fully satisfied with their current standing and this can manifest itself in all areas of life including training. Belief in the code inevitably led initiates to test the limits of their fellow students and openly discredit them to lower their position within the training facility. Often this drive even took the form of excessive violence and while this was to be encouraged to an extent – only the strongest were fit to be Sith, after all – it was also necessary to retain some level of control over it. Failure to do so resulted in the pointless death of initiates. Over the years, Overseer Falakan had written off hundreds of initiates who had fallen to their fellows; some had been of little consequence while others had been very promising indeed and so their loss was irritating. The Sith Order was still in need of numbers following the last war and too many unnecessary and unapproved deaths hindered progress. It was one thing for one initiate to kill another under the orders of an overseer but any fool could kill a gifted warrior while they slept. It was simply a waste and one that had to have repercussions.

So it was that Overseer Falakan sat at the desk in his office, waiting, with one finger tapping on the polished metal of the smooth top and his eyes staring at a hastily made holo report. He had already read it several times and so did not truly look at it but rather through it as his mind worked. There had been an altercation involving a group of initiates, which had ended when a pair of the facility guards happened upon them. Four with minor injuries, two more severely wounded, two dead and one with only a few scrapes and bruises. It was the latter who was being brought before Falakan by the order of the overseer himself after he had read the report. It was this initiate whom the guards witnessed choking the last bit of life from one of the two deceased. The report of course listed the numbers of all involved and the one in question was initiate 263413 and this was what caught Falakan’s attention when he had been about to retire for the evening. Time and again he had noticed this initiate and sensed a deep potential hanging just out of reach that 263413 never seemed willing to leap for. Perhaps he had finally done it. Overseer Falakan had to know for sure and that meant seeing the initiate in person.

The overseer’s eyes refocused on the report, looking at the deceased once more. Initiates 121413 and 181413 had both been exceptional, truly destined for great things within the empire. After tonight, however, their stories were over. Two more who could have been – should have been Sith but were taken from the order. Falakan allowed himself a moment to lament the waste but no more than that. _If things work out as I predict then their deaths will have been a small price to pay_. A small smile crept across the overseer’s face as the thought hanged there before his mind’s eye.

A pinging tone from his desk quickly forced the smile away. The overseer mustn’t give anything away needlessly. Falakan tapped a button, opening a comlink. The mechanical voice of his droid assistant quickly came through.

“Your audience has arrived, Overseer.”

“Send them in,” came the curt response.

“At once, Overseer.” The transmission ended without another word. Mere moments later the door to Falakan’s office slid open. One of the facility guards stepped in quickly before bowing his head in difference.

“Initiate 263413 as requested, Overseer,” said the man. He then stepped aside and a fairly large man in the plain gray clothes of an initiate walked in submissively. A second guard entered and the door closed behind him as the guards each took up a position standing next to and slightly behind the initiate.

Falakan eyed up the initiate before him. His dark hair was cut short as was common among the initiates. He was almost as tall as the guards, whom the overseer knew stood well over six feet, and looked nearly their equal physically. Falakan found himself recalling 263413 often did well and even excelled in unarmed combat. His opponents often focusing too much on his size and failing to consider that he may have any training which in fact he had gained even before coming to the facility or so was stated in his profile. Such things were of little importance though. Falakan was looking for something much more important than the physical. His brows furrowed as he stared at the young man standing slouched to the side and head lowered just enough that his eyes were hidden. The overseer didn’t believed the posture was out of laziness or an unwillingness to meet eyes but rather something more…existential.

“How does it feel to have blood on your hands?” The overseer’s question seemed to reach its mark as the initiate shifted uncomfortably, as though struck. Falakan waited patiently for the initiate to respond. When one of the guards motioned to strike 263413, Falakan gave the barest shake of his head to prevent it. He wanted the answer to be truthful and not forced.

“Like I have a debt to pay,” came the low and simple reply. Falakan smiled and leaned forward, hands clasped together.

“Whom do you serve?”

“I serve the Empire.” There was no hesitation this time and though it was not the best answer it still satisfied the overseer. _Close enough, it’ll do._

“I’ll be honest,” began Falakan, leaning back in his chair, “I don’t really care what happened this evening with you and the others.” Emotions began to flow from the initiate freely. Falakan’s words had forced a crack in the walls put up by the initiate, unleashing waves of anger and…remorse? Curious.

“Look at me, initiate 263413.” The man obeyed and finally cold blue eyes stared back at the overseer. What Falakan saw nearly forced a smile to his face. He took a moment to compose himself before continuing.

“Whatever disagreement caused your little scuffle is unimportant but the results cannot be ignored. Two students of this facility under my command are now dead, however, and their deaths came without my permission. Do you understand what that means?” The initiate straightened as the overseer spoke, the tone of the words dispelling the fog of detachment and revealing some discipline.

“A debt must be paid,” came the even toned response. This time Falakan allowed a small smile to show as he nodded.

“Merely the beginning. Tomorrow morning you will be made an example to the other initiates. Understood?”

“Yes, Overseer,” replied the man with a bow. Falakan was about to dismiss the three men but hesitated a moment as one more question came to mind.

“What is your name? The one you had before coming here?” The question seemed to take the initiate off-guard but he quickly recovered and the mask of discipline returned.

“Glailen Reichscher,” he said simply. _Well, Glailen Reichscher, you think your life will be changed forever after tonight and I’m happy to say you are correct._

“Try to get through tomorrow with some dignity intact and you may find your fortunes improved.” A look of confusion came over Glailen’s face but Falakan paid it no mind, pretending to turn to something more important on his vidscreen.

“Take him to the penal cells. Inform Overseer Courus that the punishment is to be carried out before morning meal. Dismissed.” Without another word, all three men departed; Glailen letting all of his questions go unanswered. It was a good sign that he knew when to speak and when to do as he was told.

Overseer Falakan found himself alone in his office once more but this time he wasn’t planning on retiring for the evening. Not just yet. There was an important call to make and he wasn’t interested in saving it for the following day. It wouldn’t be entirely inaccurate to say the overseer was excited. After taking a few moments to consider the upcoming conversation, Falakan input a holonumber into his desk terminal and waited. First the connection had to be established across worlds and then he would have to wait for the call to be answered. It was quite possible the person he was calling would be unavailable but something in the Force gave Falakan confidence that now was the time. It seemed as though Falakan hadn’t waited long at all before a notification from the terminal indicated the call was answered. Immediately a voice spoke from the other side.

“This had better be important.” The overseer smiled, feeling everything fall in place, before responding.

“Tremel. Always a pleasure. I hope all is well?” The Force was not needed for Falakan to sense the disapproval from the other man. He could clearly picture the scowl spread across Tremel’s face.

“I mean it, Falakan. I’m much too busy dealing with Baras’ maneuvering to waste time with idle chat. The future of the Sith is at stake.” It was an effort for Falakan to suppress his own annoyance; Tremel could be rather dramatic with his self-appointed duty to save the Sith. Falakan did not share the other man’s worries for the future of the Sith but if they could help each other then Falakan would cooperate.

“Yes, Baras, good of you to mention your ever present problem. You asked me to keep an eye out for a potential solution within this facility. I believe I have.”

“We’ve already discussed this; she won’t do.” By Tremel’s tone he was losing patience quickly but Falakan was not worried as he dismissed their previous conversation.

“No, not her. She is no longer an option, shall we say. In any case I have a new candidate and I believe there will be no doubt with him.” There were a few moments of silence as Falakan waited for the other man to respond. No doubt the other overseer, stationed on Korriban, was hesitant to take any risks while at the same time desperate for an answer to his predicament.

“There can be no room for error, Falakan. Why haven’t you mentioned this person before? I know you haven’t received any new arrivals.”

“No,” agreed Falakan, “this one has been held back. Holding himself back, I believe, but things change. Tomorrow I’ll send you the files on the initiate as well as some footage that will no doubt be quite telling.” When Glailen receives his punishment the following day, Falakan was certain the initiate would show promising fortitude and that would help Falakan’s case.

“Very well,” replied Tremel with his talent for the dramatic.

“And I’m sure you won’t be so excited by this find that you’ll forget who brought it to your attention.”

“Enough, Falakan. I will keep my word so long as you are not wasting my time.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Tremel,” responded Falakan in what could almost be a comradery tone. Could he really be blamed if he was feeling some sense of joy? Emotions were what gave Sith their power, after all.

“Of course not.” Tremel disconnected without another word leaving Falakan once more in silence.

For a long time Overseer Falakan sat and stared at nothing. He let his thoughts run wild with possibilities for the future. For years he had been left at this facility for training initiates, growing weaker with the banal existence of each passing day. Days had turned to weeks and weeks to months and so on as Falakan allowed his frustrations with being forgotten on this little planet to fuel his resolve to escape and truly show his worth to the empire. Another war was coming, everyone knew it, and Falakan would be damned before he allowed himself to spend any of it sitting at a desk reading reports of children killing each other for the chance to be the next Darth Malgus. Glailen was his ticket off this world and Tremel was going to arrange the transport. No more waiting.


	2. Korriban

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glailen Reichscher has arrived on Korriban but with no time to get his bearings. He is immediately sent on a trial that will see him fighting for his life in the depths of the planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was pretty much done this chapter when I posted the prologue so the time between the prologue being uploaded and this chapter shouldn't be taken as a indicator of how quickly chapter 2 will be up. With that being said, I'm already well into chapter 2 and am aiming to have it done some time next week.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

It was odd being on the shuttle as it left the hanger of the much larger dreadnaught ship and descended to the red planet. Traveling through space was not the odd part, he had experienced that several times before, but rather it was odd to be in a shuttle that wasn’t completely full. In fact, this one held only five individuals. The two pilots were locked in the cockpit and just outside that door sat two imperial troopers acting as escort for the last passenger. Glailen Reichscher was that passenger and he sat almost at the very back of the shuttle which could comfortably carry twenty people. The distance between he and his escort emphasized just how empty the shuttle was. Perhaps what was most abnormal about the situation was, at least to Glailen’s mind, that all of this was being done for him. He was, however, not one to question the demands of his superiors.

A week ago he was training as an initiate. Then he made a mistake and was certain his story had come to an abrupt end. It should have, if he was being honest with himself. That had not been the case though as shortly after he was risen to acolyte and now was being shuttled to the destination where all trials to become Sith took place. In moments he would finally set foot upon Korriban. He hadn’t even completed his training at the facility but was sent off so quickly there hadn’t been an opportunity to question the impropriety of it all. This unexpected treatment and honour, he was told, was owed to an influential overseer named Tremel.

There were more than a few questions Glailen had and he was sure the answers would come soon enough. For now, however, he was distracted by the growing sense of Dark Side energies he felt. The closer the shuttle moved to the birthplace of the Sith, the stronger the feeling became. It was no surprise of course, millennia of the Dark Side being concentrated on the planet’s surface had caused the great power to seep into the soil and permeate within the world. All the greatest lords of the Sith had walked upon the planet and soon Glailen would as well.

“ETA sixty seconds,” a female voice stated over the intercom. Glailen knew that meant they’d entered the planet’s atmosphere and he felt himself fill with anticipation.

He looked out one of the few viewports on the ship, which he had made sure to sit next to. When he peered through though all he could see was red dust whipping past which, he had to admit, was disappointing. Glailen was just about to look away when suddenly the view cleared and he saw it. Situated as a beacon to the glory of the Empire and the Sith, there on the horizon stood the Sith Temple. It was ancient and terrifying and beautiful; filling Glailen with awe as he gazed upon the mighty structure. It was surreal for him to finally see it in person after all the years he was told that this place, as an aspiring Sith, was where he needed to go. The whole scene was enough to make him forget everything else.

At least for a few seconds.

With a sigh, Glailen leaned back in his seat as he felt the shuttle begin slowing for its landing. He was on Korriban now and despite everything that had happened recently – everything that had happened since the Jedi ruined his life – he had no illusions that things were only going to get harder. He remained calm though, his pulse slow and his breathing even. Whatever came next he would meet it with survival as the only acceptable outcome.

The shuttle touched down with a light but sudden stop. Glailen rose to his feet and moved to face the hatch as his escort flanked him on either side.

“You are clear to disembark,” came the voice again. The hatch opened on cue and without hesitation, Glailen walked forward into the light. Once outside the ship he stopped and took a quick look around to get his bearings. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting but he could honestly say what he saw was not it. They certainly hadn’t landed at a spaceport but rather more of a modest docking outpost for shuttles. Only a couple of additional landing pads were attached to the building and the area appeared deserted but for a few maintenance droids and a single dark-skinned human man. Overseer Tremel, no doubt.

Glailen descended the gangplank towards the waiting man but his eyes continued to move. He had been taught to always survey his surroundings as one could never be certain what would prove useful to know. To the left, well beyond where they had landed, he could see several large anti-air guns; a reminder of the constant need to guard the Sith home world of any future invasions like the one many years ago that had destroyed so much. On the right of the station could be seen enormous statues of ancient Sith lords and Glailen found himself curious to know all of their names. Glailen reached the end of the landing pad where a walkway descended to where the man waited, behind him, hanging from the station, was a large banner depicting the insignia of the Empire. Beyond the station rose a copper-red mountain of modest size.

Glancing to his side, Glailen found the two imperial troopers who had accompanied him were bowing to him before backing away and returning to the shuttle. Glailen watched them for a moment, wondering if he would ever get used to the deference he was afforded by virtue of being a Sith – especially when he wasn’t even one yet. That wasn’t important now, however, for he was alone. That was probably for the best, really. Better if he was left to act alone to act in the interests of the Empire. All he needed were the skills he gathered, the weapons he could carry and a chance to prove his worth.

Glailen walked down the walkway and got a closer look at the other man.  He was dressed as an overseer and being stationed on Korriban meant he was respected within the Order. It appeared he was in his later years but Glailen would be sure to avoid raising the man’s ire. After all, he doubted the lightsaber at the man’s hip was just for show. Meeting the eyes of the other man, Glailen could see there was power and wisdom behind them, of that it was obvious, but there was something else. Something barely hidden.

Stopping with a few feet between them, the acolyte bowed his head respectfully. The other man did not immediately speak and Glailen felt nothing in the force but he imagined the overseer approved by virtue of not offering berating remarks. The overseer looked the younger man over a moment before nodding to himself, apparently pleased by what he saw.

“Good,” he began, “you’ve arrived. We have little time but there is much to do.” Abruptly the overseer turned around and began walking towards the doors leading into the station. Glailen quickly moved to catch up and walked alongside the other man as he continued speaking.

“I am Overseer Tremel. For decades I’ve administered the acolytes who have come to this world to become Sith. Few have what it takes to survive the trials – fewer still are capable of becoming Sith. Do as I say and you will achieve power you could never dream of. Fail to do so and you will die.” Once more Glailen found himself caught off guard by how things were unfolding. Tremel was wasting no time as they made their way through the halls of the docking station. Glailen weighed the words carefully in his mind but ultimately only one thing mattered.

“I’m a survivor,” he said evenly. The overseer gave him a sidelong glance.

“You’ll need to do more than simply survive. There is a threat to the sanctity of the Sith. It comes from within.” With each word Tremel’s voice managed to sound more serious.

“I have brought you here ahead of schedule to be my tool in combating this threat. Success,” he said pointedly, “will bring great rewards.”

Glailen considered a moment before responding, “of course, Overseer, I will not fail you.” There was no response from the overseer but he openly studied the acolyte.

The pair exited the station on what Glailen presumed was the opposite side as he was once again facing the mountain he had noticed earlier. They were on a platform that overlooked a valley leading to said mountain and swinging to the right to wrap around it. On the left side of the mountain was a large and jagged cliff face that looked to rise up a couple hundred meters to a plateau. Tremel did not pause, heading over to a hovercab with a droid at the controls.

“Make no mistake, I am taking a risk with you and I want to see it pay off.” The overseer stopped at the hovercab and faced the new acolyte.

“A test is required to see if you’re worth any more of my time. Consider it your first trial, if you will.” Tremel pointed towards the mountain without taking his eyes from Glailen. For his part, Glailen kept his eyes trained on the other man, still gauging who he was dealing with.

“On the other side of that mountain,” began Tremel, “lies the Sith Temple. You must reach it before nightfall. You could go around, whether by following the valley or scaling the cliffs, or you could use the tunnels that pass through the mountain. How you achieve your goal is no important to me but you have a timeline to adhere to.” The door to the backseat of the hovercab opened and Tremel stepped inside but the door did not immediately close.

“Reach the temple on time and we will continue with your trials. If you die then this will have been a waste of my time and you will be forgotten. If you fail to arrive on time then don’t bother at all or I’ll kill you myself.” Without another word or a chance for Glailen to respond, the door slid shut and the hovercab jerked into flight. Glailen watched as it rose higher into the sky and flew off until it was no more than a speck in the distance. He understood what he had sensed in the overseer earlier. The word whispered from his lips, “desperation.”

With a sigh, Glailen shook himself into action. He had a mission and limited time to see it done; he could do some thinking after he had a better idea of how he was getting to where he was going. There was a walkway at the other end of the platform that led down into the valley and as Glailen descended it he considered the options before him. Immediately he dismissed the idea of climbing the cliffs, with any equipment he would be asking to die. Staying with the valley looked to be a long walk but offered a clear view of his surroundings and how much time he still had. Only problem was he had no idea how far the valley would take him before the temple would be within reach. Finally, of course, there was the third option, which seemed the easiest choice on the surface. The shortest distance between two points was a straight line and the tunnels through the mountain likely offered the closest representation of that. Tremel had all but stated as much.

_There’s no way it’s that easy_ , thought Glailen, glaring at the mountain as though he could discern its secrets. Going through the mountain would make the most sense to anyone at first glance and Tremel knew it. The mere fact he had pointed it out set off alarms in the mind of the acolyte. Korriban was a world upon which only the strongest survived and as such Glailen was willing to bet he would find many dangers in the dark and hidden places above the surface and below.

He considered his options as he descended to the sandy valley. There was no good choice but he knew he would be a fool if he thought there would be. The training to become Sith was not designed so that the weak would thrive. Acknowledging this fact seemed to suddenly make everything clear in Glailen’s mind as he eyes settled on the ruined entrance to the mountain. If he was too afraid to explore the dark depths of the rocky monolith than he had no right exploring the dark side of the Force. With renewed conviction, Glailen crossed the small valley to reach the mountain, navigating the fallen pillars at the entrance and following the ancient path laid out before him. Only a few feet in and the path suddenly turned right and led down, far beneath the surface. _Right to it then._

As he found himself creeping deeper and deeper into a subterranean world, Glailen wasn’t sure what he had been expecting to encounter first. He was, however, quick to admit to himself that he had not thought he would find a trio of imperial troopers; their red armour marking them as part of the Korriban garrison. They were gathered at the bottom of the stairs Glailen was descending and the attention of the look-out was directed into the chamber. One of the other two was clearly injured and the third one was seeing to them. None noticed Glailen’s approach until he was a couple of meters away when the sound of his steps had become too loud. The look-out spun around with his rifle raised to point at Glailen’s chest but the acolyte did not react to the threat. Drawing his weapon would likely be met with blaster fire and Glailen was not interested in either the troopers or himself being hurt because he managed to sneak up on them. Instead he stopped moving towards the troopers and waited for them to realize he wasn’t a threat.

Almost instantly the look-out lowered his weapon and, without his helmet, Glailen could see the shock written plainly on the man’s face. Glailen crossed the remaining distance between them more quickly, curious as to what the troopers were doing in such a place. The look-out saluted when he was close to which the acolyte nearly responded in kind out of habit but stopped himself. He had to remember his place in things.

“I have no idea what you’re doing here, sir, but I admit it’s good to see another living person.” Closer now, Glailen could see that all three troopers were injured but the look-out kept to his military discipline and spoke calmly. Still, the relief from the three was a strong thing in the Force.

“Your people look worse for wear, what happened?” asked Glailen. The look-out glanced at the other two for a moment before answering.

“I’m Sergeant Cormun, Fifth Infantry, Korriban regiment. My squad was sent down here to deal with the k’lor’slug problem. This is all that remains of us.” With a new appreciation for the situation, Glailen reached out with the Force in search of threats but could sense nothing.

“K’lor’slug?” _No doubt something Tremel purposefully left unmentioned earlier_. The sergeant looked surprised at the question.

“You don’t know what k’lor’slugs are?”

“I only recently arrived planet side. Haven’t had an opportunity to familiarize myself with the fauna of Korriban.” Cormun appeared to look at Glailen as though he had changed forms. He quickly collected himself.

“Forgive me, sir, I just assumed – well, it’s not important. K’lor’slugs are large subterranean beasts with razor sharp claws and mouths large enough to take your head off in one bite and that’s just the small ones.” An involuntary shiver swept through the sergeant as he relived a memory. Glailen waited patiently for the man to continue.

“Until recently they caused the odd casualty or two now and then, all part of living on any world with its unique life forms, but now they’re infesting this place, the tomb of Ajunta Pal, and the Dark Council has taken notice. So here we are. It wouldn’t be such an issue but the beasts breed faster than we can put them down. We aren’t even the first squad to be sent down here.” Glailen quickly stamped out his curiosity. He didn’t want to know how many had died trying to complete a mission that was looking increasingly underestimated by those in command.

“Sounds like this operation requires a great deal more firepower to achieve results,” the acolyte replied evenly.

“No argument here but someone higher up doesn’t agree.” A flash of irritation spread across Cormun’s face but was gone in an instant as he continued.

“We were given the greenlight to try a different tactic though. If we can destroy the nest then the k’lor’slugs will likely abandon the tomb so we came down here with an explosive powerful enough to do the job. Took a while to get permission from the Sith to do it but too many acolytes have ended up as victims of the creatures. Problem is we can’t get close to the nest and we’ve tried.” Anger and regret began to radiate from the sergeant but the only indication he was feeling anything was his hands as they squeezed tight against his rifle.

“We’ve…we tried our best,” Cormun spoke in a near-whisper, “but there’s no way we can do it alone.” He looked away, no longer able to meet Glailen’s gaze. The acolyte looked at the sergeant, then at the two surviving troopers sitting quietly and clearly trying to make it look like they weren’t listening very intently. He weighed the options in his head. He should go. This wasn’t his fight, these troopers were doing what they were told and he had to do the same. The clock was ticking – he had no idea how far he would have to go before he reached the temple. If he was to be Sith then he couldn’t afford mistakes.

_‘Don’t be like them.’_

_Damn._

“Your squad is in no condition to see this mission through. Return to your garrison, sergeant. Get your people the medical attention they need.” Cormun gave Glailen a look that said he thought the man was an idiot but he covered it up with a shake of his head.

“We can’t go back without some measure of success or we’ll just be sent back if not shot on the spot.”

“Return to your superior and tell them the mission was a success,” responded Glailen patiently. “I’ll see to the rest.” The acolyte held out his hand towards the other man who struggled with an onslaught of shock and confusion.

“The bomb, sergeant,” stated Glailen. Obediently but slowly, Cormun picked up a satchel lying behind him while not taking his eyes off Glailen.

“Those beasts – they’re smarter than they look.” The sergeant gingerly handed the satchel over to Glailen who promptly slung it over his neck. He held out his hand again.

“You’re not going to change my mind. Your rifle.” Cormun looked questioningly at the acolyte, unsure of the request.

“If I’m going into this nest then I’ll need more than this practice blade.” The sergeant’s eyes widened in realization before he hastily handed the weapon over.

“Yes – yes, of course.” After a moment the trooper also produced several power packs which Glailen was grateful for. He imagined a reload would be in order before all was said and done. Glailen examined the rifle while Cormun helped his two squad mates to their feet. The relief and gratitude that reached Glailen through the Force was something he could only describe as humbling.

“Which way am I going?” asked Glailen. The sergeant turned around and pointed towards a tunnel.

“Can’t give you exact directions – didn’t get very far, ourselves – but we know it’s down that way. I suppose,” he began nervously, “if you start encountering an increasing number of the beasts then you’ll know you’re getting close.” With a sigh, Cormun faced Glailen and snapped to attention.

“Thank you, sir,” said the sergeant with a salute. Glailen gave a final nod of acknowledgement before stepping past the troopers and proceeding further into the foreboding tomb. Cormun had said the k’lor’slugs were responsible for a number of acolyte deaths; perhaps he would be one of them. It wasn’t the plan though.

As Glailen moved through the tunnel he kept feeling out with the Force for any sign of danger or hint that he was on the right path. Luckily he found that the tunnel, though winding, did not branch off too often and when it did he trusted his instincts to carry him the correct way.  Occasionally he could sense a presence on the edge of his awareness through the Force – sometimes multiple presences – but never saw a sign of the creatures he was on a mission to destroy. At first he thought they were simply not aware of him but it wasn’t long before he could no longer believe that, which begged the question of why they weren’t striking for him. While pondering this question, Glailen remembered the words of warning from Cormun. The k’lor’slugs were smart. _A smart strategy of attack would be to surround the target first_. This last thought succeeded in souring Glailen’s mood.

There was no going back, however, and so he could only go forward. As he moved steadily through the tunnel, he held his blade defensively in his right hand and his rifle was at the ready in his dominant left hand. Despite how unlikely it would be given the enclosed space, Glailen wanted to keep any threat at a distance with steady blaster fire but he would be ready to ward off any attack with his blade. In theory, at least. The practice blade was made to hurt what it struck but not kill. He would have to rely heavily on Cormun’s rifle.

Glailen was beginning to wonder how far he had walked when he suddenly felt a presence surge towards him. He held his ground and prepared for whatever threat was coming though he couldn’t see anything. Ahead was just a long dark tunnel but it felt like the presence was right before him. It drew so close that Glailen considered something in the tomb was disrupting his ability through the Force.

The ground at Glailen’s feet erupted in a spray of debris sending the acolyte stumbling and falling onto his back. Through the dust he could see the outline of an immense shape rise from the ground. Glailen didn’t hesitate, unleashing a hail of blaster fire from where he lay. The creature screeched in pain before lurching forward and falling at the acolyte’s feet. Cautiously, Glailen rose to his feet and examined the first k’lor’slug he had laid eyes on, noting its many tunneling claws and large circular mouth lined with teeth. Evidently the species was not very resilient to imperial rifles and this Glailen was grateful for.

Alarms went off in Glailen’s mind as suddenly he could feel an onrush through the Force. He struggled to assess the situation and determine the best course of action. As feared, he was indeed surrounded. Remaining was out of the question, he had to push on and punch through anything that blocked his path. If the beasts were allowed to strike from all sides then there would be no hope for the acolyte.

Glailen rushed forward and leapt over the new hole in the ground but took only a couple of strides before sensing an immediate threat from behind. He whipped his blaster around and fired at the k’lor’slug that had begun crawling out of the hole. It died quickly to some well-placed bolts to the head and slumped down, hopefully to act as a decent obstruction for any others using the tunnel. A terrible sound of stone being smashed apart drew Glailen’s attention to the k’lor’slug that had just come through a wall behind him. He had only enough time to raise his practice blade defensively as the creature lunged for him with its open mouth. The blade became caught in its teeth and Glailen sidestepped, allowing the beast’s momentum to carry it to the ground before the acolyte fired twice at the back of its head. He moved quickly now, taking off down the tunnel at a sprint before any more k’lor’slugs could appear and attack. As he raced along, Glailen could sense he was still being hunted and stopping for a moment would see him soon overwhelmed by what he was certain were dozens of k’lor’slugs in pursuit. All he could really do was hope he ran into the nest and that the detonation for the explosive would be enough to force the beasts to leave him be.

Thoughts of dying alone in this dark place, ripped apart by ravenous creatures, came unbidden to his mind. Panic threatened to take hold of him but Glailen tightened his control and focused on surviving. Reaching a point where the tunnel branched off in four directions didn’t help things, though. Skidding to a stop, the acolye took an instant to evaluate his options before choosing the tunnel second from the right and taking off at a sprint again. Even as he resumed his run, Glailen fired a few bolts back the way he came and was rewarded with shrieks of pain and rage, though their closeness did not fill him with confidence.

Glailen wasn’t sure how long he followed the tunnel but was keenly aware of his tiring legs which presented another issue. Should he keep going until he physically could not continue or would it be better to hold his ground and fight while he still had energy to expend? To Glailen’s immense relief he could put off that choice for the moment at least as he spotted a luminescent glow approaching rapidly. It appeared to mark where the tunnel opened up into a chamber. This was confirmed in moments as Glailen passed into a massive chamber and found that the light came from hundreds – thousands – of pulsating eggs. The Force had guided the young acolyte to where he needed to be and this realization was enough to strengthen Glailen’s resolve.

He would not die in this place.

A split second was all he had to take in his surroundings, noting several additional tunnels leading away from the chamber, before being forced to take action. He turned and began blasting away at the mouth of the tunnel he had just come from, hoping to keep the k’lor’slugs back for just a few precious moments. It was an effort not to fumble with the explosive as adrenaline flooded Glailen’s system but he remembered his training. _Think of what makes you angry, in the moment and in the past. Focus that emotion into a fire raging with passion and draw strength from it. With that strength, unleash your power!_

With the bomb tucked under his arm, Glailen quickly found the button to begin the countdown sequence and pressed it. He grabbed the bomb and hurled it towards the center of the chamber where it disappeared amongst a cluster of eggs. All of this took mere seconds but then Glailen heard the familiar sound of a blaster running on empty as the rifle ceased kicking in his grip. He turned his attention to where he had been firing to find a dozen k’lor’slugs lay dead but their sacrifice was not wasted as several of the beasts now reared up no more than a meter away from the acolyte. There was no time to disengage as the creatures came on with terrifying screeches. Filled with determination, Glailen met their ferocity in equal measure. Claws swiped at the acolyte and large maws lined with sharp teeth lunged at him but Glailen dodged or deflected it all while taking each chance he had to lash out with his blade, intent on wearing down his opponents. There was no time to think as Glailen allowed his training and the Force to guide his movements. His blade was soon covered in the green goo that was the k’lor’slug’s blood as the sheer force of his blows proved quite punishing but with the sensation of warm liquid beginning to cover his own body, the acolyte knew he wasn’t escaping unharmed. Pain was a distant thing not worth noticing but encroaching exhaustion was far more dangerous to ignore – to say nothing of the timer ticking away on the explosive further in the chamber. Something had to be done quickly or it wouldn’t matter who won the fight.

Glailen pretended to be pinned by an attack from the slug on the left, giving the middle creature all the incentive it needed to rush in but the acolyte sidestepped away at the last moment. The two beasts collided together as Glailen directed his attention to the one on the right and dashed closer even as it slashed wildly with its claws. Glailen ducked under the crazed attack before swiping up with his blade to strike beneath the k’lor’slug’s mouth. It howled its pain before falling forward, stunned. The acolyte wasted no time as the creature hit the ground before jumping on it and leaping off to pass over the surviving k’lor’slugs. He didn’t look back as he ran for the tunnel ahead, the one he singled out to escape through whilst fighting the beasts with his sword.

The fight hadn’t taken long but precious seconds were wasted when Glailen needed all the time he could get in order to escape the imminent explosion. He had just reached the tunnel when the bomb went off and the world became chaos. A deafening blast overcame Glailen before he could realize what was going on and a wall rushed up behind him, flinging him forward several feet to land on the trembling stone. The blast forced loose stone from the surrounding walls and ceiling. Dazed, Glailen could only glance up before the tunnel began collapsing around him and what little light available was stolen from him.

* * *

                                                                       

_'Don’t let them change you. They’ll try to, demand that you conform to what they are but that’s not you and it shouldn’t be.’_

Slowly Glailen regained consciousness but it was hard to think.  He shifted on the floor where he lay on his stomach, testing the reaction of his body. The mere act of breathing brought pain and uncontrollable coughing which in turn brought on a wave of agony. Worst of all, there was no light. The acolyte couldn’t hold in the groan of despair that worked its way up his throat as he thought about the cage of darkness he was trapped in.

_'You can be so much more.’_

Gritting his teeth, Glailen attempted to get up but found a solid wall keeping him down. There wasn’t even enough room to bring his hands close to his chest to push up with. How was he going to get out? There was no one coming for him. Was he supposed to just lay there and slowly die over the coming days? Glailen couldn’t believe this was happening, that he should be faced with an inescapable doom and be driven mad by it.

_'Don’t be like them. Be better. For the Empire.’_

Anger surged within the Sith acolyte. That he should die without any recognition, without anyone knowing his story. How could he perish in such an idiotic way? Buried alive after blowing up a few eggs? Unacceptable! He was more than that, worth so much more and he dared any one to deny it. The anger boiled over into hate and he latched onto it; riding that wave of emotion and dipping into the power it offered. It didn’t come willingly but he was no asking. He gathered all the power he needed from the Force until he felt he could hold no more. Only then did he release it.

An explosion of stone shook the tunnel as the great weight pinning Glailen to the ground was thrown off. Rocks were flung away in every direction, disappearing down the darkened tunnel, striking the walls and ceiling and loosening more stone with the impacts. Glailen was in danger of being buried again but this time he was ready as he flung his hands up, directing the Force to shield him and tossing the rocks aside.

For a time the acolyte remained immobile where he had risen from his tomb. He breathed heavily, feeling an exhaustion unlike any he could recall. Struggling to maintain consciousness, he took a step forward and stumbled, falling amongst the unforgiving rocks around him. Fresh pain enveloped him as his limbs struck the cold stone and solid edges dug into his sides before he came to rest on the floor.

Long moments passed in the deep silence without movement.

An arm moved. Then a leg. Minutes later Glailen attempted to rise. He collapsed almost immediately. At some point he tried again and found greater success.

“I swear,” he ground out through clenched teeth, “there’s no way my story ends by being buried alive.”

Once the acolyte found his footing he shuffled forward a step and then another. He would keep moving forward for as long as it took. Wherever it took him.

* * *

                                                                                        

It was getting late and Korriban was not a world one would want to find themselves without shelter when night came. That was especially true when a storm came through as looked to be a case this day. From where he stood near the Sith Academy’s main entrance, Lieutenant Garus looked out towards the wilderness of Korriban as one might study a map, albeit one with a filter of swirling sand. He wondered how many acolytes had failed to return to the temple and how many were forced to remain away for one Sith-related reason or another. But that wasn’t really his concern, he needed to worry about the troopers under his command and not what the Sith chose to do with their fresh blood.

As it was, Garus had it fairly easy this day. Everyone from his command was accounted for, though that did include a few casualties. Still, if Cormun and his squad had really succeeded then at least the Sith wouldn’t insist on any more troopers being fed to the damn k’lor’slugs. That, as far as Garus was concerned, made this a good day. Perhaps tomorrow he would change his tune but for now the lieutenant was content to sleep with some peace of mind.

Tearing his eyes away from the increasingly chaotic scene, Lieutenant Garus offered a final salute to the guards on duty, who promptly returned it, and began making his way over to the much less daunting structure of the Imperial Garrison.

Movement caught Garus’s eye and he turned to look at the troopers again. He found them gathering together, saying something amongst themselves, but as one noticed their superior watching he quickly pointed past the lieutenant. Curious, Garus turned around and looked into the cloud of sand blowing along the landscape. It took a moment but he managed to make out the silhouette of a person walking towards the academy. _Well, a lucky latecomer._

When the figure drew closer their features were revealed and Garus heard his breath hiss unbidden through his teeth. The figure – a man – looked to have had a cave collapsed on him. His clothes were darkened from blood leaking from multiple lacerations and what skin could be seen was bruised to some degree. Despite his unpleasant condition though, the man maintained a steady pace and approached as one bound by singular purpose.

As the man came close, the lieutenant glanced off to the side at the sun dropping low on the horizon.

“A good thing you made it back before nightfall. In your condition I don’t think you’d find surviving till morning an easy task,” said Garus as he returned his gaze to the man he presumed to be an acolyte given his attire. The man though did not say anything, acknowledging the lieutenant’s presence with a mere flick of the eyes and he did not pause in his shuffling walk. Clearing his throat, Garus opted to try again.

“You’d do well to seek medical treatment or you might not heal too well from,” Garus paused and waved a hand to encompass the man, “all of that.” Still the man did not pause but instead carried on right past the lieutenant but as he did he tilted his head to look back.

“I believe you are correct, lieutenant, thank you.” Nothing more was offered from the man as he continued past the guards and up the steps before disappearing into the academy itself.

Garus shook his head, mumbling, “crazy Sith.” With a start, the lieutenant glanced around to check for anyone standing close enough to have heard him. Luckily no one else was about at this time. Still, one couldn’t be too careful with what they said about Sith. Especially on Korriban.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Garus is only a sergeant in the game but I decided to use a little creative freedom there. I wanted someone already in the game but the only candidates that made sense were Garus and Rikel and both are sergeants so I went with the older of the two. Anyway, chapter 2 will likely be much longer than this one. Back to writing.


	3. Soul of an Empire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having finally arrived at the Sith Academy, Glailen Reichscher has only a moment to catch his breath before he must resume his trials. His knew overseer is determined to make sure Glailen is worthy of the title of Sith. Along the way he makes plenty of enemies but maybe a few allies as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this ended up being longer than expected but I think it turned out well. I won't give an ETA on the next chapter but rest assured I am working on it.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

“Excellent, you have arrived. Welcome, Acolyte Reichscher.”

Glailen paused his shambling gait and lifted his head to look for the source of the metallic voice. His eyes soon came to rest on a droid standing a few feet in front of him. The droid was unremarkable with the grey metal of its chassis perfectly shined and bereft of imperfection as was imperial standards. Its round optics gave off a faint yellow glow as it no doubt took in every minute detail of Glailen’s person but the acolyte paid it no mind for the droid had brought him out of the stupor of exhaustion. Now Glailen was taking in his surroundings and appreciating where he was.

_I’ve finally made it…_

“I am Y-5O3,” the droid continued, “I have been waiting to take you to Overseer Tremel’s office, unless you failed to arrive on time. You made it with little time to spare.”

“Yes.” Between how tired he was and how struck by the world he had stepped into, Glailen could offer only the simple response. His eyes roamed around what he supposed was the main hall of the Sith Academy from which anywhere else in the building could be reached. He was eager to take in the sights and begin understanding what he could but still had the presence of mind to be discreet about where he looked. After all, it would not do to have a Sith lord catch him staring wide-eyed and become disgusted or, worse, offended and there were certainly plenty of Sith about.

Everywhere one looked could be seen a mixture of Sith lords, overseers, acolytes and the ever present service droids. Stationed at particular points in the hall also stood members of the Dark Honor Guard, elite warriors indistinguishable from each other in their crimson uniforms complete with a full helm. They stood completely still but even had Glailen not been aware of them he would not have been foolish enough to think them nonthreatening. Most of the passersby were barely acknowledged though for his attention was captivated by the Sith lords as they went about their business.

It was impossible for Glailen to mistake them by the way they carried themselves or the difference they were shown or, most importantly, by the dark power that emanated from them. The dark side of the Force was heavy in the academy and for Glailen it was like moving through surging water, at once terrifying and comforting in its hold. Around the various Sith lords the dark side was at its strongest and they could best be described as whirlpools in an ocean as they pulled in the power but at the same time released it. The young acolyte found his gaze following one Sith in particular, a pureblood who was staring at a monolith that dominated the center of the hall. He couldn’t see the face of the Sith as he was turned away but that didn’t matter for Glailen could glean more than enough from the man already and anyone with even a simple grasp of the Force could have also. For someone in the relative safety of the Korriban Sith Academy, he seemed ready for battle with the armour he wore and the power he kept tightly restrained just beneath the surface. There was so much of it. It was easy to imagine the Sith lord exploding into a fury that would leave everyone dead at any moment.

As Glailen stared, he considered his own state, physically, mentally, and for the first time since arriving on Korriban he seriously wondered if he could become more than another name on a ledger. It was in this moment of doubt that the pureblood turned his head but only enough so that his left eye found where Glailen stood. The acolyte wilted under that gaze, quickly averting his eyes as sweat tracked down the small of his back. He eagerly gave Y-5O3 his full attention. 

“I am no medical droid but a quick scan shows you in need of medical treatment. The sooner the better.” The acolyte stared unblinking at the droid for a moment

“Yes,” he said simply. The bluntness of Y-5O3’s statement soured Glailen’s mood further but he didn’t let it show. He was quite aware of his condition but equally he knew there was nothing to be down about it just yet. _Some things just take priority over others._  

“No time for that now. We must not keep the Overseer waiting. Please, follow me.” Without waiting for Glailen’s response, the droid turned and began towards a hallway on the far left side of the room. The acolyte followed at an unhurried walk. As the moved down the corridor, taking several turns, they past many more occupants of the academy, all of whom spared them more than a passing glance. That suited Glailen fine, given his physical state.

“You there! Hold on, acolyte, let me get a look at you.” Holding back a curse, Glailen stopped in his tracks and slowly turned towards a pair of approaching acolytes. In an instant he looked over and assessed the other two men, sensing an odd combination of hostility and indifference. If the hostility won through then, Glailen realized, this would be how he would end. Beaten to death in a hallway. 

He drew in slow, even, breaths. Whatever happened next, he would be ready. 

“Overseer Tremel requests his presence immediately.” Chimed Y-5O3 from where it stood behind Glailen. Glailen didn’t take his eyes from the other two acolytes, not expecting them to give much weight to the words of a droid. 

“We’ll only be a moment, droid,” responded the first acolyte with a dismissive wave of his hand. He was a few inches shorter than Glailen but carried himself with a confidence bordering on arrogant. A weapon Glailen recognized as a warblade was on his back and it was likely he was very familiar in how to wield it. The pair of scars crossing on the right side of his features a more sinister look. It was the second acolyte who appeared the more physically intimidating of the two. He stood taller than Glailen and was much larger than the first acolyte but the way he stood back and kept his silence indicated a difference to his partner. This made it clear in Glailen’s mind who he should be giving the most attention to. The first acolyte openly looked him over. 

“Hmm, yes, you would be impressive if not for the fact you’re already half dead.” There was a noticeable pause after the comment as the acolyte waited for Glailen to rise to insult. When it didn’t happen he continued as though he hadn’t stopped talking. 

“I’m Vemrin, and unlike you I’ve fought and bled for everything I have.” With each word the tone became more serious and he stepped closer until no more than a foot separated the two men.

“I demand respect.” Those words, barely more than a whisper, seemed to reverberate against the walls as the two acolytes locked eyes. Both matching the other’s stone-eyed gaze, refusing to be the first to back down. Glailen knew what was happening and he knew he the smart move would be to keep his head down at least until he was healed. On the other hand though, after everything he had been through, Glailen couldn’t stomach the thought of allowing this Vemrin to walk over him. 

“What are you implying? You think I haven’t earned my place?” Glailen shuffled forward as he spoke those words until he was able to speak directly into Vemrin’s right ear. 

“You don’t know what I’ve done to get here and you would do well not to assume otherwise.” There was a pause as those words settled. Glailen could feel the disdain grow within the other acolyte but paid him no mind, confident he wouldn’t make a move without Vemrin’s consent. When Vemrin finally did speak his tone now had an edge to it. 

“An acolyte in your condition shouldn’t posture. Everyone knows what’s going on between you and Tremel and frankly you’re too late. Perhaps a year ago things would have been different but now you’ll only end up like all the others who get in my way if you’re not careful.” Finishing what he had to say, Vemrin stepped back but in such a way that said he only did so because he felt like it. 

“This is ridiculous, Vemrin,” said the other acolyte with a shake of his head, “let’s just kill him and hide the body. I mean, it looks like he knows all about that.” Ignoring the sudden burning he felt from his facial tattoo, Glailen watched as the large man flexed his fingers, itching to reach for his warblade and give action to his words. Before anything could happen, Vemrin stayed his companion with a halting finger. 

“Not here, Dolgis. There are rules. Traditions.” 

“Besides,” he continued with the smallest of smiles, “I don’t require shortcuts to get what I want – unlike others.” Vemrin looked expectantly at Glailen, once more goading a strong reaction out of him. Glailen remained silent and unmoving. 

“Nothing more to say? I guess you’re learning.” Without a concern to be found, Vemrin stepped past Glailen, considering the conversation over. After a moment he realized he was walking alone and glanced over at his partner who hadn’t moved. 

“Coming, Dolgis?”

“Be right there, Vemrin,” replied Dolgis as he kept his eyes on Glailen. Once Vemrin was out of earshot, Dolgis stepped closer and spoke so that his each word had a special emphasis. 

“You’d best remember something, Vemrin is the alpha monster around here. There will be no more warnings. Step out of line and you won’t live long enough to regret it.” Still Glailen said nothing but his body was tensed to respond to anything unexpected. With Vemrin out of sight, Glailen was less certain that Dolgis would hold back. 

“Acolytes may not be allowed to kill each other,” the protective brute continued, “but accidents have a way of happening to those who deserve it the most around here.” For a long moment the two stood completely still as though the slightest motion would be catastrophic. Finally Dolgis made the first movie, looking away and walking unhurried down the hall. Glailen turned and watched the other man go until he disappeared around a corner, noting how Dolgis looked back only at the very last moment. 

“A rude pair,” chimed Y-5O3, breaking the silence, “their interruption has kept Overseer Tremel waiting.” Glailen faced the droid’s blank visage with his best imitation.

“Let’s not delay any longer, then.” 

Reaching Tremel’s office was only a matter of a few more turns and a couple lengths of hallway. When they came to the door Y-5O3 inputted a code on a panel and the door parted smoothly. The pair entered into a fairly large, square room. It was lightly decorated but what could be seen was all related to the Sith offering nothing about the owner of the room other than that they were enthusiastic about Sith. For Glailen though, that spoke a great deal in and of itself. Tremel sat behind a desk placed close to the far wall. Upon hearing the doors open he look up and immediately his grim features grew grimmer still.

“What’s this?” he demanded, pushing back his chair to stand. 

“Acolyte Reichscher as request, Overseer Tremel. He arrived on time.” Tremel waved Y-5O3 to silence with a cutting motion that gave away how irritated he was.

“I can see that – Acolyte, what is the meaning of this?” Glailen licked his lips as he gathered his thoughts but before he could speak the overseer leaned forward against his table with a piercing glare. 

“You are no good to me or the Empire if you die before you even begin your trials. You can barely walk so how are you to be of any use?” Again Glailen needed time to consider his response and Tremel waited with arms crossed. It was an effort for the acolyte not to let his shoulders sag; he suddenly felt the physical and mental exhaustion of the day as a renewed pressure. He knew Tremel would not be interested in what actually happened so Glailen kept to his training.

“I became sidetracked. Forgive me, Overseer.” Unsurprisingly this response did little to placate Tremel’s mood as he walked around his desk and strode over to stand before the acolyte. 

“What’s at stake is the very core of the Sith Order,” he said with a tone that left no room for debate, “we can afford no mistakes but you have already put us at a further disadvantage than where we already were.” 

“My apologies, Overseer,” said Glailen as he bowed his head and held it lowered. He had to force himself to keep breathing as he waited for Tremel’s response. Suddenly he heard a low sigh and retreating footsteps. Glailen risked lifting his head and found the overseer standing in front of his desk, looking up at a banner displaying the Imperial sigil. 

“I wasn’t planning on beginning your trials today but there will be no excuses going forward.” Tremel glanced back when he finished speaking but Glailen kept silent and still, maintaining a perfect picture of discipline.

“I’ll not keep you any longer either,” the overseer continued, “Y-5O3 will show you to the medbay and you had best hope you heal quickly.”

“Yes, Overseer,” replied Glailen with another bow of his head. The acolyte was just about to back away when Tremel suddenly turned around with narrowed eyes. 

“One more thing before you go.” The overseer walked over to the right wall of the room and opened a cabinet. Inside, Glailen could see several warblades lined up. Tremel picked one out seemingly at random and examined it a moment. Apparently satisfied, he held it out to Glailen.

“That practice blade will not do here on Korriban. Take this warblade,” weapon suddenly left the overseer’s hand and floated over to Glailen, “perhaps it will serve you better should you become distracted again.” Slowly, surprised by the turn of events, Glailen grasped the blade and appraised it much how Tremel had a moment earlier. Y-5O3 took the practice blade from Glailen and placed it on a table to the side of the room.

“Thank you, Overseer,” said Glailen as he placed the warblade where its predecessor had been. Tremel watched him for a moment before clasping his hands behind his back and returning his eyes to the banner. 

“Dismissed.” 

“Please, follow me.” Glailen gladly did as Y-5O3 requested as he had plenty to think over now and was not averse to finally receiving some medical attention.

* * *

 

Somehow Glailen had expected the medbay to be more active but as it was there were half a dozen injured seeking attention. Even with such low numbers, however, he was still being looked after by a droid. It suited him fine if he was being honest, droids struck him as more dependable in various areas of life such as careful and precise administrations. Glailen sat contentedly as the med-droid applied a series of kolto patches; he’d already been given several injections to ease things along. One was to battle potential infection, another to aid in the healing process and the third, which Glailen was perhaps most thankful for, dulled the pain he hadn’t quite become accustomed to. The pain wasn’t gone entirely, though he had little doubt the feat could be managed. He guessed pain was encouraged to some extent as a reminder of failure and motivator for success. Glailen used it to stay focused. 

As the med-droid worked, Glailen looked around the medbay to keep himself occupied. There were actually two flesh and blood doctors on duty – both human, of course – one of which was seeing to a woman Glailen knew instantly for a Sith lord. That didn’t surprise him, the doctors were likely reserved for true Sith which explained why the second doctor was walking around the room supervising the other med-droids as they attended everyone else. 

Glailen’s eyes drifted to the back of the room where four kolto tanks stood against the wall. Those were something else he supposed were for special use, which is why he didn’t bother asking about them. One held a human male with burn marks on the left side of his body that made Glailen rethink the severity of his own injuries. The other tanks were empty, probably only used for severe cases or sufficiently impatient Sith lords. 

_I’m becoming more acquainted with an impatient Sith all the time._ Glailen thought back to his conversation with Tremel. He had been right earlier when he thought the overseer was desperate and now it was clear that desperation was making him nervous enough to allow his personal misgivings to slip through the cracks of his defenses. What worried him so much, Glailen wasn’t certain but it would be a huge impact on the acolyte whether he cared for it or not. 

“We are done now, Acolyte.” Glailen glanced at the med-droid and then at the kolto patch that had been applied along his ribs just below his left arm. He got up from the bench table and tested his limbs with some slow movements. 

“You should heal to satisfactory levels so long as you remain inactive for at least twenty-four hours,” spoke the droid with its monotone mechanical voice. The acolyte looked impassively at the med-droid for a moment, considering the wistfulness of that statement, before turning towards the exit. 

“Noted,” he called back over his shoulder. 

As he approached the doors they slid open and he exited to medbay. The difference was as striking leaving the room as it had been entering it. He had been to many such medical facilities before and they all largely looked the same, following some sort of imperial standard, with the major difference being the clientele. Once he was no long in the medbay though, he found himself in a completely different world. One ruled by the Sith.

“Acolyte Reichscher, it is good to see you looking livelier.” Y-5O3 approached from a stairway and Glailen wasn’t sure if the droid had been waiting for him or if it had timed its return to near-perfection. 

“Let’s hope it lasts,” he responded while his eyes continued to take everything in. He was new to the academy and had been taught to always be gathering information. 

“Yes, of course. Any worse than earlier and you would probably be deceased.” Glailen’s attention turned to Y-5O3 with a raised eyebrow.

“We wouldn’t want that.” 

“It would certainly be an inconvenience for Overseer Tremel.” The two stared each other for a long moment before Y-5O3 gestured aside. 

“If you would follow me, I will show you to the sleeping quarters Overseer Tremel arranged for you.” The droid turned and led the way as Glailen followed closely in silence. As they walked they passed a great number of rooms and within some could be heard anything from cries of joy to screams of pain. In others Glailen could sense such an immense aura of the dark side that he imagined there must be multiple people working together. It was all nearly too much to take in at once, although Glailen found himself craving more. 

At length the pair came to a stop before a door that looked no different from a dozen others but it was here that Y-5O3 worked the control panel to open the door. Inside Glailen could see it was a long bunk room with simple beds lining both the right and left walls. He estimated there were enough beds for forty people but he noticed no more than a handful of occupants. It was possible the others had not yet retired for the day but another thought came to mind for Glailen. Y-5O3 had said Tremel picked this place personally; perhaps the overseer was trying to keep Glailen from mingling with too many other acolytes. Y-5O3 entered the room and indicated a bed that looked like it hadn’t seen any recent use.

“I suggest you get some rest. I will return early for you tomorrow to bring you to Overseer Tremel.” Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Y-5O3 turned towards the door and began walking away. 

“How early?” Glailen asked of the retreating droid. 

“Why, when Overseer Tremel decides he is ready, of course.” There was nothing more to say as Y-5O3 moved out of sight and the sound of his steps quickly receded. Glailen was left standing alone in the room considering what he should do next. A small part in the back of his mind suggested taking some time to go over the day’s events, another part urged caution at letting down his guard for rest while surrounded by potential threats. Both of these were easily outweighed by Glailen’s near-desperate need for sleep. It was clear to him that whatever tomorrow would bring, he would need every bit of strength he could muster. 

On heavy feet he marched over to his bunk, placed his warblade against the wall but easily in arms reach and then collapsed onto the covers. Sleep took him without hesitation.

 

* * *

 

It was getting late but Overseer Tremel still had work to do. He was an overseer after all and therefore had obligations to other acolytes in the academy, though he despaired with every holoreport he read over. Everywhere he looked he saw the Sith way endangered by radical minds and the increasingly impure blood of so many acolytes. Such were also grim reminders that he likely only had one chance to set things right or he would die a broken man. _But right now my best chance is two steps away from joining the Force._

Tremel’s mind returned to when Acolyte Reichscher had been brought before him in his office. When he first sets eyes on the boy when he arrived planet side he had felt a spark of hope in his chest but then, mere hours later, he had felt more helpless than he had in a long time. If Reichscher proved nothing more than another strong arm then Tremel was indeed wasting his time. Still, he had to admit the acolyte had showed great fortitude in weathering his condition and seemed willing enough to see things on without complaint. However, some would say he was just being stubborn and it would take more than that to save the Sith. Shaking his head, the overseer cleared his throat to speak. 

“Are you going to stand out there all day?” A few moments passed after Tremel had spoken but he patiently remained reading the report in front of him. Finally a young woman appeared around the corner of the door leading to the waiting room for his office. It was only when she revealed herself did Tremel raise his eyes from the report. The dark skinned woman stared at him with eyes that blazed with anger and defiance – a look the overseer had seen many times before.  
“What is it, Eskella?” he asked, though he believed he had good suspicions as to the answer. Eskella glared at him as only she among the acolytes would dare. 

“That’s all you have to say, father?” Tremel watched his daughter with disinterest. He didn’t care for her calling him her father – especially around others – given that she was an acolyte at the academy and he an overseer. The silence stretched on for no more than a few seconds before Eskella realized no response was forthcoming. 

“I know about your new pet project.” It was an effort for Tremel to keep his face blank as his daughter came closer, her eyes boring into him. 

“Project?” he asked.

“Oh, don’t play dumb, father, especially not with me. Half the academy knows.” Eskella flicked her hand aside as she spoke. A grin came to spread across her lips as she seemed to realize her father had truly believed he had kept things secret. 

“Vemrin has already introduced himself.” The words oozed satisfaction and Eskella smiled at the frown that creased her father’s features. He looked away and seemed to become lost staring at something far off. 

“Damn,” he breathed, “I thought I’d have more time.” Eskella crossed her arms, smile gone, and leaned closer to her father. 

“Why him? What does he have that makes him so special?” Normally Tremel wouldn’t have bothered responding to his daughter when she displayed such audaciousness as to use a demanding tone with an overseer. This time though, as he looked at her and sensed the need behind her words, he felt some measure of pity for his flesh and blood.  
“Some people are ready for what the galaxy holds. Others take longer to reach that point – if they ever do.” The rage that boiled just beneath the surface of Eskella would have made Tremel proud had his daughter shown she could properly apply it to the dark side. As it was she kept it restrained as she turned to leave. She had just reached the door when she stopped and glanced back at her father. 

“Whatever happens, father,” she stated, with poison on her lips, “don’t expect my help.”

Tremel was left alone with his reports after that but he didn’t make any progress with them. They just didn’t hold the same importance for him that they had earlier.

* * *

 

Glailen jerked awake and a groan escaped his lips. It came from a mix of waking too early and feeling his muscles, stiff from healing, protest the sudden movement. He looked around the room slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark, searching for any reason why he might have been roused from his sleep. There were a few more people in the room occupying other beds than there had been before he had fallen asleep but not many and none were awake. Suddenly he was struck with pangs of hunger and with another groan he realized why he was awake. He hadn’t eaten since arriving on Korriban and his body wouldn’t wait any longer.

As Glailen got up from his bed he glanced at the chronometer hanging above the doorway. He wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep but he guessed he had been out for no more than five hours. Not the best but he had worked with less. Gathering his warblade, he left the bunk room and searched for the first service droid he could find that would agree to direct him to where he could get some food. It didn’t take long to find a willing droid or for it to guide him to a sort of cafeteria available for acolytes at the academy but the wait greatly increased Glailen’s hunger. He helped himself a plate full of some kind of porridge and bread – then another – and decided to take a piece of fruit for his walk back to the bunk room. The fruit was nothing he had seen before but he found it was pleasantly juicy and completely gone before he returned, which was just as well for he spotted Y-5O3 exiting the bunk room. 

“Ah, there you are, Acolyte Reichscher,” said Y-5O3 upon noticing Glailen’s approach. 

“I came to bring you to Overseer Tremel,” continued the droid, “and was worried to find your bed empty. It would have been quite unfortunate if some of the other acolytes had orchestrated your disappearance. Such things are not entirely uncommon.”

_And such thoughts never occurred to me_ , thought Glailen sarcastically. Outwardly he shrugged off Y-5O3’s words. 

“That doesn’t surprise me but I believe Overseer Tremel chose wisely when he placed me here.” 

“I would have to agree with your assessment. Now, Overseer Tremel is waiting for you. Please, follow me.” The acolyte fell into the now familiar routine of being led around the academy by Y-5O3. He wondered if the droid was always going to be there to lead him around or if he would be expected to quickly become acquainted with the layout of the building. Glailen wasn’t opposed to the idea necessarily but it would be a lie to say the complexity of the academy wasn’t somewhat intimidating. 

As they walked Glailen noticed there was still a great deal of people about despite what he guessed was an early hour, in fact he got the impression that the academy was bustling with activity day and night. Not a surprise really, Sith didn’t strike him as being afraid of the dark. When they came closer to Tremel’s office, Glailen half expected Vemrin or Dolgis or both to cause him grief but neither man appeared. No one new decided to make things difficult for him either for that matter, for which the new acolyte was relieved. He wasn’t afraid to fight for his place but he also wasn’t foolish enough to be over eager. There would be plenty of opportunities before all was said and done, he was sure. 

They arrived at Tremel’s office without incident but as they did Glailen could sense the overseer was struggling with anxiety. Tremel had been pacing in front of his desk but as the pair entered the room he turned to meet them. His eyes looked over Glailen quickly, judging his health. Glailen guessed he looked decent enough by the way the overseer pursed his lips but gave no other indicator of being displeased. After a moment he spoke.

“Good, you’re here. We haven’t any time to waste; today you begin the trials.” The edge to Tremel’s voice confirmed for Glailen that the other man was struggling with his thoughts. 

“I am ready.” Glailen stood with his back straight and arms clasped behind his back. The painkiller he’d been given was beginning to wear off he felt but that was fine; he fed on the pain.

“Perhaps. But first you should know something of why I am doing what I am and why you are here.” The overseer glanced back at the Imperial banner before continuing. Glailen looked at the banner as well. It meant something to both men but, Glailen surmised, not quite the same thing. A sigh announced Tremel was about to speak. 

“The Sith Order used to be pure. Its members followed the traditions passed down over the ages and respected those who came before.” Tremel’s gave returned to Glailen and the acolyte saw a barely restrained rage flaring to life behind it. 

“That has changed and is continuing to get worse every day. More and more Sith are scoffing at tradition and the blood of true Sith has become despairingly thin. The cause of it all has been the lax in recruiting criteria. In an effort to swell our numbers, the order has been accepting just about anyone with Force sensitivity.” As he spoke, Tremel walked closer to Glailen who kept his eyes pointed straight ahead.

“Even the number of _aliens_ has grown at an alarming rate and there are too few bothered by it.” For an instant the acolyte’s eyes flicked to the older man. The scorn with which he said the word aliens was not something Glailen could share but had come to expect within the Sith Order. 

_‘We’ll watch out for each other.’_  

Glailen let out a hissed breath before he realized what he was doing. He quickly schooled his body back to stillness. Tremel nodded in what the acolyte could only guess was approval. Perhaps he thought Glailen’s reaction had come from sharing the distaste for aliens in the order. Glailen had no intention of correcting the other man.

“They try to dismiss my concerns with talk of how the impure and aliens will always be beneath true Sith in status,” resumed Tremel, “but they are fools. If you allow an infection any room for growth it will seize it and not stop. One day we double the number of aliens recruited in a year and the next those aliens are sitting on the Dark Council.” 

“It’s only a matter of time,” the overseer leaned closer before finishing, “and weakness.” His eyes searched Glailen’s and it was an effort not to turn away from that inquisitive look. After a moment, Tremel stepped back and walked over to his desk. Against his better judgement, Glailen found words forming on his lips. 

“Would it be so wrong to diversify the species among the Sith? So long as they adhere to the dark side and are loyal to the Empire, what more is needed?” 

“Careful, acolyte,” said Tremel as he stopped in mid-stride to face Glailen, “that is dangerous talk.” Glailen kept his eyes straight and mouth shut under the overseer’s scrutinizing stare. The acolyte could feel sweat begin to track down his back when finally Tremel looked away and moved his way over to the chair at his desk which he promptly sat down in. 

“Never forget humans are the superior race and we will only be held back by others. Vemrin is one such individual who doesn’t see this. He consorts openly with alien acolytes. He _brags_ about coming from a low family never before associated with the Sith. He would change the Sith if he could and to make matters worse he is being groomed by a Sith lord called Darth Baras to be his newest apprentice.” The name was not familiar to Glailen but any Sith who could earn the title of Darth was not one to be taken lightly. Knowing this did not improve the acolyte’s mood as Tremel spoke.

“Baras does not respect the traditions of the Sith. Not only would he accept Vemrin’s attitudes but he would encourage them and this cannot happen. Those two cannot be allowed to work together or I fear they will become too powerful to stop. Baras has aspirations of reaching the Dark Council, Vemrin is gifted and destined for great things in the Sith; they will change the order until it is unrecognizable.” Pausing, Tremel leaned forward on his desk, clasping his hands together in front of him. 

“You must stop that from happening.” Glailen was beginning to truly understand the motivations that drove Tremel on and with each word he became less certain of his resolve. He had no fears of the calamity the overseer was describing. No longer was he concerned with whether or not he could succeed but rather did he want to? Was he on the right side in this fight? He couldn’t give voice to any of this of course and he had to mask his emotions to prevent Tremel from suspecting his conflicting loyalty. Hesitantly, Glailen tried a neutral response that might give him more insight. 

“Overseer, you speak of a movement with a great deal of momentum already. How am I to stop it?” Tremel waved a hand through the air as though to ward off the concerns of his acolyte. 

“More on that later, for now you must begin the trials. Y-5O3 will be taking you to the prison block, there you will find Jailer Knash who will show you to three prisoners. They have committed crimes against the Empire and it will be for you to pass judgement on them. Give them the sentence you feel is right but remember to be ruthless. Keep in mind I will not be the only one hearing of the results. Dismissed.”

* * *

 

There wasn’t much to do in the morning. Not that Vette knew what time it was – not that there was ever anything to do – but still there had to be something better than picking at her nails. Yet, after a few days in the tiny cage, she had yet to figure that out. Oh, sure, sometimes there would be a half decent conversation going on between two or more guards that she could listen into but that wasn’t often. So she was left with cleaning her nails, getting every last bit of dirt that appeared under them even though she hadn’t been outside in days. Although, what she would rather have been picking at was her slave collar so she could possibly, maybe, find a way to get it off and then maybe, possibly, attach it to one of the jailers and find out how they like getting zapped. Unfortunately big boy Jailer Slash – or Dash or Knash or something – had already made it clear he didn’t take kindly to her inquisitive nature.

_Least I’m not alone anymore_ , thought Vette as she looked at the other three occupied cages. When she had first been locked up, there had have a handful of other prisoners but in the span of two days they had all been taken away and she hadn’t seen or heard about them since. She didn’t like to dwell on that or on what that meant for her. But, early that morning, three new prisoners had been brought in and placed in some cages along the perpendicular to the one at Vette’s back. It would have been nice to talk with some, exchange gossip and all that, but Tash wasn’t interested in hearing anything above a whisper from the prisoners. That was fine for the newcomers since they were so close together but Vette was too far away to be heard by them if she tried. So, really, the only fun that had come from the new arrivals for Vette was making up stories for each of them even if that took up no more than an hour.

Vette sighed her frustration. If she didn’t get some kind of stimulation soon then she was worried it would start affecting her sanity. At that moment Flash himself walked in, looking at a holoreport and heading straight over to the other prisoners. Vette’s eyes tracked him for a moment, considering.

_Screw it._

“Hey, boss guy,” Vette began as she stood up, “shouldn’t us inmates get some exercise time or something? You know, to stretch our toes and stuff. Wouldn’t mind sitting in this cage but there’s shockingly little to do – if you can believe it – not even some reading material.” The jailer stopped and turned towards Vette. He was usually quick to make use of the collar’s electric shock feature but today he seemed distracted as he walked over.

“Heck, I’d even settle for some dirty pictures…” mumbled Vette as Knash stopped in front of her cage, giving her his best menacing glare.

“One more chirp out of you, little bird, and you’ll regret it.” The locked eyes for a moment and the smallest of smirks quirked up Vette’s lips.

“Chirp. Chirp, chirp.” Knash raised his right hand and in it Vette saw the dreaded switch. She had only a second to brace herself before the collar sent a painful shock through her body but she bit down against the pain. The first few times had been difficult to get over but Vette – dare she say it? – was getting used to the electric agony.

“Alright, I get it, you’re not a fan. But hey, I can do other animals though; dire-cat, frog-dog, kowakian monkey-lizard, you name it and I’ll pretend to know it.” Some might consider Vette’s behaviour self-destructive or even signs of a masochist but the truth was boredom could be a powerful motivator. At least that’s what she told herself. Even as Knash drew closer to get a better look when he sent another shock through Vette, she was already considering what to say next. How angry could she get him before she couldn’t take the pain any longer? Wasn’t the healthiest game, sure, but it was something.

At that moment someone entered the room and caught Vette’s eye as he stopped just inside, his head turning as he surveyed his surroundings. Knash paused upon noticing Vette’s attention turn away and he looked to see what was happening. Vette wasn’t paying attention to Hash by that point though, she was sizing up this newcomer and, she admitted, there was a fair bit to look over. He was a large muscular guy with either the most serious or most bored face she’d seen in a long time and that was hard to do on Korriban. From his clothes he looked to be one of the students at the academy so, like, a baby Sith, Vette supposed. He didn’t seem to carry himself like a Sith though; there was a lack of swagger and sense of supreme superiority over all other living creatures in the galaxy. But, even as Vette thought he wouldn’t be as bad as all the rest, his eyes found her – and moved along without pause as though she wasn’t even there. 

_Well, maybe Sith develop a god-complex when they hit puberty._

* * *

 

“You there, I’m Jailer Knash and I run this cellblock. I’m guessing you’re the acolyte Overseer Tremel sent down for the test.” Glailen’s eyes came to rest on the man who had spoken. His tone was professional but not overbearing and for that Glailen was glad – he didn’t need someone pressuring him while he was deciding the fate of several people. He inclined his head in greeting. 

“He certainly thinks highly of you to have prisoners brought in like this,” continued the jailer as he scratched at his burgundy beard.

“I plan on making sure his faith is not misplaced.” The acolyte glanced at the three prisoners caged up along the wall as he spoke. He supposed those were the ones he was meant to pass judgement on.

“Good luck with that – he must think you’re the next coming of Exar Kun or something. Acolytes are supposed to go off world for this test but I guess Tremel doesn’t want to waste any time.” Knash gave a light snort and shook his head, thinking of something he apparently found amusing. 

_He certainly didn’t go through the trouble of bringing me here just to send me away the next day._ Glailen studied the prisoners, a depressed looking bith, a human woman who appeared to have lost a fight and an elderly human male wearing Sith armour.  At a glance he had no idea what their crimes could be but he was ready to learn. Knash came up alongside him, waving a hand to indicate the same prisoners. 

“Anyway, these are the prisoners. You’ll decide their fate whether that be lifetime imprisonment or execution or even freedom if you woke up feeling particular merciful today. Talk to them, interrogate them, rip out their inner secrets with the Force; whatever you decide, you should know others will be watching.” Knash’s voice took on something of an ominous tone but Glailen wasn’t interested. 

“So I’m told,” he replied, walking over to the cages. The first he came to was the bith sitting in the center of his cage, a scrawny representative of his species, he was probably the least threatening thing Glailen had encountered since arriving on Korriban. 

“Well, we start with a bit of an odd one. This guy’s name is Bregh and he’s suspect of supplying forged documents to Republic agents. He maintains his innocence though, despite what the Inquisitors have done.” Suddenly the bith leapt to his feet and pushed against the bars of his cage. He reeked of terror and desperation. That alone, Glailen knew, didn’t equate to be guilty.

“That’s because innocent I am! Believe me, you gotta – I had nothing to do with no forged documents! Set up, I was set up!”

“And why would someone want to set you up?” asked Glailen, not bothering to hide his skepticism. Brehg recoiled as if struck, his expression sobering.  
“No idea…I once did time in a Republic jail for forgery so that would make me a good choice I guess.” He looked down at his feet as he spoke; almost like a child being questioned by an adult. _He’s way out of his league here_ , thought Glailen.  
“Someone to take all the attention,” supplied Glailen. The bith nodded eagerly but still kept his eyes low. Knash took a step closer, rubbing his chin.

“Yeah, he keeps coming back to that. The evidence is mostly circumstantial too so I suppose he could even be innocent but, well, that’s not for me to decide.” The jailer looked at Glailen expectantly and the acolyte found himself wishing he could wash his hands of the whole affair. Judging the fates of prisoners was not what he had in mind when he was selected to become Sith or before that. Suppressing a sigh, Glailen moved closer to the cage.

“Look at me Bregh.” The command in Glailen’s tone was not to be ignored and the bith quickly obeyed though he seemed to struggle to maintain eye contact. For a long moment Glailen held Bregh under his gaze, weighing the bith in his mind. Finally he looked away. 

“Let him go.” 

“Justice! There is justice in the universe!” Bregh became ecstatic with the proclamation, dropping to his knees but throwing his hands in the air. 

“Freedom, eh? That’s a new one.” Knash gave a sidelong look at Glailen as he spoke. 

“Don’t think everyone will like it,” he added. 

“Then I’ll have to deal with that later.” Glailen was already looking over the next prisoner, hoping they would be easier to judge. He walked over so that he stood in front of them. The woman, arms crossed, stared back defiantly. 

“This one goes by Solentz–” 

“Enough, freaks, just do what you’re going to do and get it over with.” The acolyte cocked an eyebrow at Solentz’s interruption and then the other eyebrow went up with her statement.

“Are you looking to die today?” he asked. 

“I’m not afraid to die,” she replied evenly and without hesitation. Already she appeared to be the complete opposite of Bregh. Behind Glailen, Knash cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, she likes to put on a strong front. She was hired to assassinate an Imperial spy but she maintains that she was hired anonymously – despite lengthy torture.” _That explains the state of her_ , thought Glailen, _no one who makes an attempt on the life of an Imperial agent can expect easy treatment._ Solentz for her part was giving a frustrated shake of her head.

“The only real torture around here and having to repeat myself all the time – I don’t know who hired me and I didn’t know he was an Imperial spy!” Glailen could understand the passion with which the woman spoke but he couldn’t bring himself to sympathize too much with an assassin. Still, he had to consider the case carefully. 

“So you insist you’re not a Republic assassin.” Glailen murmured, talking to himself more than to anyone else. Solentz seemed not to realize it as she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. 

“Maybe the Republic are the ones who hired me but, like I said, I don’t know. Not interested in politics, only in who pays.” 

“But the point is she doesn’t deny being hired or attempting to fulfil the contract,” stated Knash, “so this one is pretty clear. Only thing to do is decide whether it’s a clean execution or death by combat.” A frown creased Glailen’s face. Knash made it sound so simple but, as much as he wished he could believe that were true, Glailen saw the situation different. It was true Solentz was guilty of her crimes and a part of Glailen wanted to see her receive the punishment owed to enemies of the Empire but there was another option. In war it was foolish to waste any resource no matter how small; the Empire may not be at war currently but the fragile peace between it and the Republic would not last. Some might consider it crazy but it was possible Solentz would prove useful in a coming conflict – or maybe in delaying one. Glailen let out an irritated sigh. 

“Neither actually. Give her to Imperial Intelligence. Perhaps they can give her the skills and equipment to be an effective assassin.” Glailen could easily feel the surprise that came from Knash but he was more interested in how Solentz would react. Her expression softened only slightly and her eyes had a suspicious shine. 

“I won’t work for free,” stated Solentz bluntly. Glailen narrowed his eyes on her. 

“How you are compensated is not my concern but I will say this; you have been given another chance in this life, don’t let your pride ruin it.” It looked like the assassin was going to add more as she opened her mouth but instead closed it a second later, choosing to remain silent. Nodding to himself, Glailen moved on to the final prisoner. He took barely two steps before the older man reached out an imploring hand. 

“Please! I am a fellow Sith – judge me with an open mind and grant me trial by combat. I beg you.” Glailen had guessed the man was Sith – or used to be – but he looked to Knash for the full story. The jailer took the cue quickly.

“This pile of waste is Devotek. He used to be a big-shot Sith, like a champion of sorts, but then he botched a rather important mission and caused a thousand Imperial deaths. Now look at him.” The disdain in Knash’s words couldn’t have been more self-evident. It didn’t surprise Glailen either; he himself wasn’t feeling too fond of someone who made such a grievous mistake. Devotek, on the other hand, was shaking his head with dismay.

“One mistake – one! – and decades of loyalty amount to nothing. They threw me in a cell and left me to rot. I don’t deserve this…please, let me feel the weight of a weapon in my hands again. Let me die with dignity.” 

“He’s not worth it.” Those few words summed up Knash’s feelings on the prisoner but Glailen needed more. 

“You’re so insistent that your crime isn’t worth this fate – or a fate far worse – but why?” 

“Like I said,” responded Devotek, “I’ve devoted my life to the Sith and the Empire. I’ve slaughtered the Emporer’s enemies and obeyed every order without question. The least I should get in return is an honourable death.” 

“But all those Imperials…do you feel nothing for their loss?” asked Glailen, struggling to understand the other man. 

“They were soldiers – servants of the Empire – their lives are owed to the Sith, mine is to the Emporer.” Glailen’s mouth worked for words but he could find none to use against such a complete lack of remorse. The utter callousness with which the man before him disregarded the lives of Imperial troopers just…enraged him. He realized there was really only one option left.

“Open his cell,” he said, turning to take several paces away from the cage, “give him a weapon.” The acolyte’s eyes, hardened with anger, bore down on Devotek. He drew his weapon when Knash handed the disgraced Sith a warblade. They faced one another, each lowering into a battle stance. The thought that Devotek, being a Sith lord with decades of combat experience, could defeat him never crossed Glailen’s mind. There was no way he could lose. 

The two combatants eyed each other wearily, studying their opponent. Whoever could anticipate the other first would gain the important upper hand early on and Glailen, as he liked to think of himself, was a patient man. His patience paid off as Devotek suddenly dashed forward with an attack to Glailen’s side but the acolyte caught the blow easily enough. That didn’t deter the Sith as their blades made contact for only an instant before he was changing his point of attack and striking for Glailen’s other side. The strike was easy to read and quickly defended. Devotek leapt back, creating some distance for momentum, then rushed in undeterred. Glailen had only a second before his opponent would be on him again but it was all the time he needed to truly see his foe. 

Experience was on Devotek’s side, Glailen freely admitted that as he saw the technique behind the Sith’s moves and how his body moved easily as though familiar with the motions, but that was where his advantages ended. Being locked up for so long, likely malnourished the entire time, had taken much of Devotek’s strength to the point where there was no real power behind his strikes. Worse than that, Devotek was resigned to his fate. He fully expected to die here and sought only to put up enough of a performance to satisfy himself at the end. The latter reason disgusted Glailen; a warrior unwilling to fight for victory wasn’t worth the title. 

Glailen remained on the defensive for a few more attacks before he slowly but firmly shifted the balance of the fight, delivering probing blows to see how Devotek would react. The acolyte was confident of victory but he wouldn’t allow that same confidence to be his undoing. Devotek showed he knew how to parry and block with great skill but was unable to compensate for his diminishing energy. He staggered back from each blow until his back hit the cage that had held him moments earlier. Glailen struck then, moving fast and with precision. Devotek moved his warblade to block an attack but Glailen had planned for it. He used his superior strength to bat aside the weapon like an insect; immediately he redirected his warblade to strike point first against the Sith’s chest. A lightsaber would have burned through the body almost instantly but a warblade, while it worked in a similar fashion, did not have the same power. The tip of the blade passed through the fabrics of Devotek’s tunic easily and burned into his flesh but stopped against the more resilient bone beneath. Devotek cried out in pain even as Glailen edged his lead foot closer and leaned into the strike. An agonizing second later the pain gave way and the sudden force sent the warblade passing fully through Devotek’s body as the end erupted from his back. 

A final gasp of air escaped Devotek’s body but Glailen didn’t look into the other man’s eyes as he faded. He had already taken his measure and was unimpressed. When Devotek became nothing more than dead weight, Glailen retracted his weapon with a swift pull and stepped aside as the body dropped to the floor. 

Knash offered a slow and brief clap. 

“Well, that was entertaining at least,” he said to fill the silence. 

“I only wish I could have fought him in his prime,” replied Glailen with genuine disappointment. Knash shrugged noncommittally; likely just glad Devotek was finally dead. 

“I’ll say this, kid, you’re an interesting one,” added Knash. None of the other prisoners dared comment, of course, and so a silence grew to encompass the room. Glailen remained looking towards the body of Devotek without seeing it. He was lost in his thoughts as he struggled to come to terms with the growing sense of disappointment in the pit of his stomach. Years ago he hadn’t eagerly begun his training to one day be Sith just so he could kill other Sith – even ones that deserved nothing better. He wanted to kill Jedi. 

_I doubt the Jedi are killing each other with such casual acceptance._

After a few moments, Knash coughed to break the silence. 

“Anyway, that’s all of them. You should be heading back to Overseer Tremel now. I’ll send my report on ahead.” Without waiting for a reply, Knash began typing away on his holopad. Glailen lingered a moment longer, glancing at the two prisoners he had allowed to live and wondered not how his choices would be considered but rather if he cared any more. 

* * *

 

Vette watched as the acolyte left, wondering about him. Things had not gone the way she expected them to. Even if Brash hadn’t been there to give voice to how odd it was for a Sith to show mercy, she would have thought the same thing on her own. Sure he didn’t let all three live but the one he did kill was – or at least used to be – a Sith. 

After inputting something on his holopad, Brash left the room as well. Likely to find help with cleaning up the body and getting someone to take away the now free prisoners. Now would have been a perfect time for her to talk with the others but even had they looked like saying anything at the moment, she wasn’t really interested. That Sith student had kept her guessing the whole time right up until he made his exit. If that didn’t make for good entertainment, Vette didn’t know what would. 

_But alas, back to the fingernails. Maybe I should check my toes too._

* * *

 

Returning to Tremel’s office was proving uneventful which suited Glailen fine as his thoughts were distracted. He kept thinking back to Devotek; to what his ultimate fate had been and wondering if that would be his own end. Serving the Empire loyally only to be locked away to rot. Would Glailen one day be responsible for such a heinous loss of Imperial life?  Was he destined to be left with nothing except a hope that he would be allowed to die on his feet instead of left alone in a cell somewhere, forgotten? Glailen felt very real fear thinking that when he had seen Devotek, he had received a glimpse of his own future. 

_‘We mean so little to them – maybe nothing.’_

_Yeah, I’m starting to see that now._

Still running around his own head, Glailen was close to Tremel’s office when a figure walked around a corner and stopped in his path. Glailen’s gaze locked on the individual and hardened into an unforgiving glare. 

“Remember me?”

“Don’t push me, Dolgis,” warned Glailen with a tone coated in ice. Dolgis, unconcerned, planted his hands on his hips. 

“Still acting like a tough guy, huh? Guess I’ll find out how tough you are – look around.” Dolgis waved a hand to encompass the area but Glailen didn’t take the bait, keeping his eyes on the other man. 

“We’re alone,” continued Dolgis, undeterred, “and I’ve decided I really don’t like you. So, I’m going to make sure you never get in Vemrin’s way.” The clear and obvious threat in those words was not lost on Glailen as his muscles tensed for what would surely come next.

“That didn’t take long,” stated Glailen with a challenging roll of his shoulders. He wasn’t looking to back away from this fight – he wanted it. In fact he should have been surprised at how much he was daring the other acolyte to give him an excuse to get violent. A part of him was surprised but another, louder, part was just yelling at Dolgis to quit stalling and go for his weapon.

The other man didn’t disappoint as one hand suddenly reached up for the handle of his warblade. Glailen didn’t wait, nor did he hesitate as he dashed forward and his right hand lashed out to grab hold of Dolgis’ right elbow. A look of surprise flashed over Dolgis’ face as Glailen’s left hand went for his own warblade. His fingers wrapped around the grip when suddenly a hammering force struck him in his side, driving the wind from Glailen and momentarily weakening his limbs. A moment was all Dolgis needed as the hand that had punched Glailen’s side was thrust into his face with authority. Glailen was thrown onto his back from the force but he used the momentum to keeping rolling into a kneeling position. Even before he had his feet under him, Glailen was pulling his warblade free, which proved fortuitous as Dolgis was instantly looming over him. Glailen barely had time to position his warblade before his foe’s own blade crashed down on it. Glailen’s defense held firm but the power of the attack sent painful shocks through his arms. Not giving his opponent a moment to recover, Dolgis slammed a boot into Glailen’s chest that sent him to the floor. Again Dolgis delivered a downward slash but his blade succeeded only in leaving a burn streak in the floor as Glailen rolled aside and quickly got to his feet. 

Cautiously the two men began to circle each other as they now had a new understanding of one another. Glailen was not afraid of a confrontation and Dolgis would not be easily dispatched. Despite the danger, Glailen felt a sense of enjoyment. This, at least, would be a better fight than his last. He just had to make sure it _wasn’t_ his last. 

This time it was Dolgis to take the initiative, presumably feeling confident after warding off Glailen’s opening gambit. As he came closer at a frightening speed, Glailen was reminded that the other man was larger and stronger than he. Someone weak of heart would have broken under the sight of Dolgis rushing to kill them but Glailen planted his feet and willed his body to remain steady. He heard the panic in the back of his mind but it was pushed into a distant corner as he raised his warblade to meet the assault. Dolgis delivered a heavy slash, throwing all his weight behind it but Glailen caught it on his own weapon and refused to give way. The sheer force, however, threatened to overwhelm him as his knees bent and he was forced to lean back. With a primal snarl, he began to push back. Dolgis, for his part, abandoned the test of strength quickly and instead focused on unleashing a series of blows. The flurry of strikes kept Glailen on the defensive and now he found himself backing away in order to parry the blows effectively. Glailen was calling on the Force to sharpen his sense, give more strength to the power and speed of his movements, but he knew Dolgis was doing the same. Who had the greater command over the Force? Glailen couldn’t risk the outcome believing he was stronger in the Force. He would need to find an opening and go on the offensive. _Just have to weather the storm…_

Glailen was beginning to wonder how much ground he would have to give when suddenly opportunity presented itself. Dolgis overextended himself, stumbling forward and Glailen reacted greedily. Glailen lunged forward but instead of seeing fear in the other man’s eyes he saw satisfaction. Dolgis suddenly regained his footing with ease and swatted away Glailen’s attack; as he did so he spun around and the back of his left fist smacked into Glailen’s head. Now it was Glailen stumbling while lashing out with his warblade in an attempt to ward off any follow-up attack. He didn’t see it with his vision blurred but Glailen felt his warblade be deflected at the same time Dolgis kicked his right leg out from under him, dropping Glailen to his hands and knees. The acolyte nearing defeat stared numbly at the ground, cursing himself for falling for an obvious trap, while Dolgis stood over him and angled his warblade to end the fight. 

“And you thought yourself a match for Vemrin.” 

An explosion of rage mingled with the need to survive. Suddenly Glailen felt he had all the power in the galaxy. His head shot up and he locked eyes with Dolgis. The other man’s face twisted in shock at what it saw but only for an instant as Glailen thrust out an open palm. The Force threw Dolgis through the air until he came to a stop crashing against a wall. The impact knocked the air from his body making a struggle out of pushing off from the wall. He had just managed the task when Glailen came crashing into him, his warblade deflecting Dolgis’ aside and leaving the larger man open for the forearm colliding with his chest; further impacting his ability to draw breath. Glailen prepared to strike again with his elbow but then Dolgis’ left hand flew out and grabbed Glailen’s neck on the left side. Before Glailen could react, Dolgis was thrusting him aside with his impressive strength, even as the larger man pushed off from the wall. The momentum sent Glailen knocking into the wall, his head bouncing off the solid surface. 

Dazed, Glailen glanced around, his eyes quickly found Dolgis as his opponent took a swing with his warblade. Glailen reacted without thought, dropping down to his knees and immediately pushed off from the wall, angling his body so that he could slice the back of Dolgis’ legs with his weapon. Dolgis cried out in pain as he fell against the all even as Glailen got to his feet and, not allowing the other man a reprieve, delivered a thrusting kick to his back. Dolgis’ face smashed into the wall and he pulled away to fall onto his back, revealing blood pouring freely from a broken nose. Slowly, Dolgis rolled onto his stomach and looked around for the warblade he had released in his pain. Glailen spotted it at the same time and, with a flick of his wrist, sent it rolling away with the Force. A defeated moan escaped Dolgis as he got to his knees. Glailen raised his weapon and prepared to deliver the final blow. Suddenly Dolgis’ arms flew up protectively as he cried out. 

“Wait! Please – so strong – I don’t want to die…” Glailen listened as the other acolyte resorted to begging. Listened and felt a deep disgust for the scene. He lips drew back in a snarl as he became angry with Dolgis for losing his nerve at the moment it mattered most. They had just fought each other with all they had and now, thinking that this man could have beaten him, Glailen felt a roiling fountain of rage rise up in his being. 

“There’s no room in the order for cowards.” Dolgis had only a second to process those words before Glailen lifted his warblade and delivered a slashing blow across the kneeling acolyte’s chest in a quick, fluid, motion. Dolgis’ cry was cut short.

_Begging to die, begging not to die; will I kill anyone who doesn’t beg?_

The surviving acolyte remained standing over the corpse for some time, gathering his thoughts. He hadn’t expected to kill anyone this day, hadn’t planned on it, but he found he wasn’t sorry for it. He meant what he said earlier and that was what the trials were for. Some people, like Tremel himself, would consider the most important thing for the order was to purify the blood. Glailen, however, was more interested with ensuring the order had real fighters in its ranks. None of that mattered though because he had just murdered a fellow acolyte, which was frowned upon, and he had no idea how to go about disposing of the evidence. 

_Somehow I don’t believe I’ll be lucky in this situation twice._  

“Greetings, Acolyte Reichscher. Were you returning to Overseer Tremel’s office?” Glailen was startled by the sudden words driven into the silence. He stepped aside, revealing the body, and turned to find Y-5O3 approaching, coming from the direction of Tremel’s office. The droid stopped and stared at what remained of Dolgis.

“Oh! It appears Acolyte Dolgis met with an unfortunate accident.” The droid moved closer as Glailen remained silent. It seemed fitting that his guide through the academy was the first to find him. 

“I shall notify sanitation services that there is a mess to be cleaned immediately.” There was a pause as Glailen waited for Y-5O3 to add more but nothing was forthcoming. 

“Aren’t you going to call the guards to arrest me?” inquired Glailen. Y-5O3 turned and looked at Glailen. If he was capable of facial expressions then Glailen would have expected the droid to show confusion. 

“Whatever for? All I know is that you were the first to find this waste to be removed.” Glailen opened his mouth to respond but then closed it. It occurred to him that he was learning a great deal about the unspoken rules of the academy. He looked back at the corpse, wondering how long it would be before he was no more than _waste_ at someone’s feet. 

“Go ahead,” said Y-5O3, pointing down the hall, “we would not want to keep Overseer Tremel waiting.” 

Nodding, Glailen left the scene to the droid. It was a short walk before he came to the overseer’s office and, with the door being already open, he walked in. Tremel was standing in front of his desk but turned to look at Glailen as he approached. Seeing the overseer, Glailen wondered how he appeared and how he should explain himself if he was pressed. Tremel though either didn’t notice or didn’t care, as his words made evident. 

“Acolyte, good you’re back. Took you longer than I expected but we must push on.” 

“Yes, Overseer,” responded Glailen with an added bow of his head.

“First, we should discuss your choices with the prisoners. Your first choice was freedom for the bith. Explain.” Already by the overseer’s tone, Glailen could tell Knash had been correct; it was an unpopular choice. But it had been the choice he made so Glailen had to stand by it. Licking his lips, he gave the only answer he could. 

“He was innocent, Overseer.” Even to his own ears the response sounded weak. Tremel’s eyes narrowed disapprovingly.

“And you know this how?” he asked, his voice taking on a sharper edge. 

“I trusted the Force in this regard, Overseer.” He knew there would be no winning an argument with Tremel but Glailen still felt a need to defend his actions.  The overseer’s nostrils flared momentarily before he continued in a biting tone. 

“Whether he was innocent or not, the far more important concern is that he now has intimate knowledge of our facilities and having him running around the galaxy is potentially quite compromising." Glailen scoffed at the idea of Bregh being any sort of threat to the Empire.

“Intimate knowledge may be an overstatement in this case, Overseer.” The acolyte cursed the words before they left his lips; he knew they were the wrong ones. He also knew why he said them, he truly believed the security risk posed by Bregh was miniscule even if an overseer with a low opinion of aliens wouldn’t see it the same. Glailen knew he shouldn’t have said it but his blood was still up from his fight with Dolgis, making him more prone to risks.

“Any knowledge of this academy is unacceptable and protecting that is certainly worth one alien.” The overseer’s snapping retort left no room for further debate and Glailen, having calmed his own mind, was happy to leave it at that. He bowed low before speaking.

“My apologies, Overseer, you are correct.” That seemed to placate Tremel who sighed as though he were disciplining a child. With a wave of his hand the matter was shoved aside. 

“Let’s move on. The woman, you gave her to Imperial Intelligence; that was a wise decision. Never waste a resource.” For Tremel to be pleased with a choice was a pleasant change of pace, one Glailen was happy to encourage. 

“That was my line of thinking, Overseer,” he said, standing straighter. 

“You must always be thinking like that. Display cunning and the right people will notice. Now, the final prisoner, Devotek, you granted his request for trial by combat. Why?” Glailen sensed he was dangerously close to getting on Tremel’s bad side again but the overseer’s tone held more curiosity than hostility. Even so, Glailen chose his words carefully while staying with the truth. 

“Two reasons, Overseer, I wanted to test his worth and I wanted to ensure his death was satisfying for me.” Tremel was nodding as Glailen spoke but lacked the same acceptance that he had shown for Solentz’s fate. 

“Understandable,” he said slowly, “however, it should have been obvious that Devotek was long past being of any use to the Empire. You could have killed him without wasting time on a meaningless fight. You must always be looking forward, time is always of the essence.” Tremel looked at him pointedly, making sure the importance of his words were understood. 

“Yes, Overseer.” Uninterested in further argument, Glailen opted to accept the other man’s words. The overseer watched him a moment longer then nodded.

“We must move on now, your next trial awaits.” 

“I am ready, Overseer.” The possibility that the next trial would be much more taxing didn’t really come into Glailen’s mind. What he wanted was a task to focus on to distract for the other thoughts in his mind. The look Tremel gave him seemed to indicate he sensed something of Glailen’s thinking. 

“You had better be. This trial will take your strength and I have made adjustments for you. It’s time you proved you have what it will take to face the powerful individuals who will oppose you.” Tremel paused to let those words sink in. So far Glailen was pleased with what he was hearing though; being directed at something or someone to end was less complicated than deciding whether or not someone deserved to live. When Tremel resumed, Glailen found himself reconsidering.

“In the Valley of the Dark Lords you will find the Tomb of Marka Ragnos. In his tomb you will find a Beast of Marka Ragnos, a creature made strong by the dark side of the Force. Slay the beast and then return to me.” Glailen wonder if the dizziness he was feeling was from his fight with Dolgis or from the daunting trail Tremel had just casually placed upon him. Any creature chosen by a great dark lord such as Marka Ragnos was not going to be easy prey, to say the least. Was Tremel becoming unhinged in his gamble to make Glailen into the strongest acolyte at the academy? It seemed possible given that he thought it necessary to make up such a special task as the next trial. Finding his mouth suddenly dry, Glailen had to lick his lips a couple of times before responding. 

“Yes, Overseer.” It was all Glailen needed to say and that was a good thing for it was all he could bring himself to say. 

“Y-5O3 has procured some supplies for you. This trial is likely to take more than a couple of days.” Glailen glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see the droid entering the room at that moment. Or rather he was surprised to see Y-5O3 had a backpack with him that appeared relatively full. _How did he get it so quickly?_ Y-5O3 stopped next to Glailen and held out the bag, which the acolyte took after a second. He wanted to open it up to see what he had to work with but held his curiosity in check of the moment. 

“Take him to a hovercab,” said Tremel, addressing the droid, “I don’t want him walking the whole way there.” 

“As you wish, Overseer Tremel,” replied the ever obedient Y-5O3. 

“Dismissed.” Bowing once more, Glailen turned and left the office. He still felt his mind reeling from the task he had been given but he was steadily returning to calm. Surviving wouldn’t be accomplished by allowing his mind to remain scrambled. With a start, Glailen realized he was walking far ahead of Y-5O3, so distracted was he with his thoughts. He stopped and waited for the slower moving droid to catch up.

“It is good to see you eager to begin your trial, Acolyte Reichscher, but it may be best for me to show you to the hovercab station.” From anyone else Glailen would have considered the comment sarcastic but in this case he stepped aside and ushered the droid ahead.

“By all means, lead the way.”

“Thank you,” chimed Y-5O3, moving on ahead. 

“You may also be pleased to know I packed your bag myself. You will find energy bars, several canteens of water, kolto patches, a protective sheet against the elements and a map of the Valley of Dark Lords, although I am sorry to say the map is rather old and made of parchment.” Glailen carried the backpack with a new appreciation for it. What was held inside and how he used it would be a strong determiner in whether or not he survived the next few days. He also looked at Y-5O3, wondering how much of the supplies was stated by Tremel specifically and how much had been the droid’s decision.

“I’ll take whatever I can get. Thank you for the assistance,” he said with genuine gratitude. 

“You are quite welcome.” Glailen glanced at Y-5O3 who actually sounded pleased. 

At length they exited the academy and Glailen glanced around at what he supposed qualified for bustling activity on Korriban. Imperial troopers, various service droids, acolytes and Sith; all of whom had somewhere they needed to be. For a moment Glailen felt contentment; this was what he wanted to see, where he wanted to be, but that was not what he would get. Soon he would be alone in the wild. 

Y-5O3 led the acolyte to an enclosure that stood a few dozen meters from the academy. Inside there were lines of hovercabs, some with droid drivers and some without. The pair headed over to the closest droid operated vehicle. Next to the cab was a panel that Y-5O3 operated for a moment before addressing the driver.

“Take Acolyte Reichscher to the Valley of Dark Lords.” The driver gave a few beeps which Glailen took for an affirmative. He hopped into the vehicle and the hovercab began to lift into the air. Y-5O3 stood by as the cab rose higher. 

“Good luck out there,” the droid called, “and remember not to drink all of your water too quickly. I know how you organics find basic function difficult if you have not consumed liquids recently.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Glailen called back just before the hovercab accelerated away. As the cab made its journey, Glailen spent the time going over the map he had been given. He tried to get an idea of how far he would be walking and determined he would be away for a couple of days at least and that was if the weather and terrain were forgiving. Leaning back in his seat and gazing out at the Korriban landscape, he considered what it would be like to be alone for so long. He couldn’t really remember the last time he spent so long without someone else nearby. 

Then he did remember. 

He remembered the heat, the darkness, being stuck with nowhere to go, just waiting for…something – anything at all. Frantically Glailen shook his head to be rid of the images. When that didn’t work he slapped himself. Hard. His vision blurred momentarily.

“Are you alright, sir?” inquired the driver, understandably. 

“Fine,” he responded curtly and began rummaging through his backpack. At that moment he needed anything to take his mind off things and that included taking inventory of what he had. 

Nearly half an hour passed before they reached their destination. The cab touched down lightly at an Imperial outpost. Glailen waved his thanks to the droid who nodded back before taking off again, returning to the academy. As the acolyte watched the cab become a dot in the sky he felt like he was truly stuck with nowhere to go but into the valley to hunt a monster that would probably kill him. Sighing, Glailen looked around to get his bearings and then set off. There were at least a dozen Imperials and even a couple of Sith but none paid him any mind. Soon the only sign Glailen had been at the outpost were his footprints but the wind would see that change before the end of the day. 

He walked for hours through the valley, looking for landmarks for reference in conjunction with the map. Above the sign beat down oppressively. Even without Y-5O3’s words of warning, Glailen knew enough to ration his water but the heat was testing his will. Pausing, he took a single sip from the half-finished canteen, remaining keenly aware that he would have only two more canteens when the first was emptied. Glailen replaced the canteen into his pack and took out an energy bar while glancing at the horizon. It wouldn’t be long before night came. He could continue for a few more hours before the demand for sleep would require him to stop. 

When finally the last light died away Glailen began searching for a place to rest for the night. In his travels his nose picked up a scent of smoke and something else – something pleasant that made his mouth water. Cooked meat. Curious, the acolyte followed the smell as best he could but it wasn’t long before he spotted a light burning in the night. At a trotting pace Glailen approached what he presumed to be a fire until he could get a clear idea of the scene. A fairly large fire was blazing away, around it were long sticks with strips of meat; an animal carcass lay to the side. From what he could see, there was only one person at the fire. They sat facing away from Glailen, eating their meal. Either the person was incredibly brave to be cooking food with a large fire out in the open or they were another level of foolish. The thought that he was looking at a trap also occurred to Glailen. 

He approached the fire slowly, stopping far enough away to remain hidden in the dark but close enough to study the person. It was a woman, small in stature, with short cropped red hair. As she moved her head Glailen could spot the outlines of three scars running down the left side of her face. Glailen remained still, considering whether he should risk approaching or continue on his way. The woman finished the strip of meat she had been chewing on and then, with perfect accuracy, turned her head to look directly at Glailen. 

“You might as well come into the light. Don’t be shy.” Glailen stiffened upon being found out but forced himself to relax. At a deliberate pace he got up and moved over to the fire, keeping a discreet distance between himself and the other acolyte.

“You knew I was there the whole time?” he asked. The woman cocked an eyebrow in his direction. 

“Not exactly hiding yourself well.” This time it was Glailen to raise a questioning brow.

“Coming from the person sitting in front of a fire at night in the open?” A smile spread across the woman’s face at the retort.

“True but considering the benefits – warmth and cooked food – I’m happy to take the risk,” she said with a wink. Glailen shrugged, unable to agree fully but not wanting to be antagonizing.

“You can call me Silthrai by the way.” Still suspicious of the other acolyte, Glailen wasn’t sure whether or not to offer his own name yet. 

“Because that’s what you’ve decided I should call you?” he asked. Her brows creased in annoyance and Glailen wondered if he had misread the situation. 

“Because it’s my name,” she snapped. For a moment Glailen wondered at how quickly Silthrai had become defensive but he let it go. Everyone had their quirks. 

“Glailen,” he supplied. Silthrai looked at him with a deadpan expression for a few seconds before nodding. She was about to take another bite from her meal but stopped and waved at the ground.

“Sit down, you’re making me uncomfortable.” Without taking his eyes off the other acolyte, Glailen eased himself down to a sitting position but kept his legs poised to respond quickly. He was about to ask a question when Silthrai raised a hand and spoke first.

“Let’s cut to the chase, eh? I’m guessing you’re looking for food–”

“I have energy bars,” cut in Glailen. 

“I’ll take that as a confirmation,” resumed Silthrai without missing a beat, “I’m looking for water. I brought some but that fella there,” she pointed at the carcass roasting over the fire, “liked to play rough. One thing led to another and the next thing I know, no more water. So I’ll trade you some food for some water.” The other acolyte waited patiently, seemingly without a care to be had, as Glailen thought over the proposition. He had a limited supply of water and didn’t really need any food. Of course, as he looked at the cooking meat, he really wanted some. If he was careful going forward – more careful than he had been – he could afford to go without a single canteen. 

He pulled his pack off and rummaged through it for a canteen of water. After taking a second to think it over again, he tossed it over to Silthrai. She made no move to catch it but the canteen slowed to a gentle stop next to her. She pointed at the food. 

“Help yourself, I won’t be able to eat it all.” Glailen considered the selection a moment before taking one of the sticks of meat. He took a bite and, while the food lacked any kind of seasoning, it was significantly more filling than an energy bar. As the pair are in silence, Glailen found himself feeling at ease around this Silthrai. He could sense no hostile intent from her. Not yet at least.

“What brings you out here?” Silthrai’s finger shot up before Glailen had even finished speaking. She waved it back and forth as she finished the morsel in her mouth. 

“Ah! If you want to make small-talk that’s fine with me but no talking business. Might discover we’re after the same thing and then we have to kill each other.” Glailen considered the warning and he had to admit, it was sound. He would just have to avoid compromising details.

“Fair enough. How long have you been out here?” he asked, trying again. 

“Two days, going on three. You don’t think this place is so big until you get here and walk around for a few hours and can’t figure out where you’re going.” He understood what Silthrai was saying, the valley appeared to go on forever, but something she said confused Glailen. 

“You don’t have a map?” Glailen couldn’t keep the surprise from his words. 

“What? Of course not. The overseers aren’t exactly leaping to make things easier for acolytes.” Glailen stared at her. _Oh_ , he thought. He considered not adding more; perhaps it would be safer not to reveal he had a map. Then again, he doubted any overseer had given Silthrai the same task Tremel had given him. Casually he reached a hand into his bag and pulled out the map; Silthrai’s eyes snapped to it as Glailen used the Force to send it over without risking it falling into the fire. She took it out of the air and glanced at him before opening it. Glailen remained focused on his meal while she looked it over.

“I’ll need it back,” stated Glailen after a few moments though he appeared unperturbed. He needn’t have bothered as it turned out for Silthrai began rolling up the map even as he finished speaking. 

“Yeah, go ahead. I got what I needed.” She tossed the map over and, aided by the Force, it landed neatly at Glailen’s side. He picked it up and returned it to his bag. The two acolytes sat in silence with the exception of the fire crackling and their own chewing. 

“Thanks,” Silthrai said finally. 

“You’re welcome.” 

They remained silent as they ate until they had their fill but the silence stretched on. Glailen wondered if he should say something but really all he wanted to do was rest. Sitting, staring into the fire, with his thoughts was enough for him. Then he sensed they weren’t alone. 

At the same time the pair of acolytes leapt to their feet however, Glailen noticed, they weren’t looking in the same direction. That’s because we’re surrounded, thought Glailen grimly, his eyes straining to pierce the darkness. Eventually a man walked into the light. He looked worse for wear, his clothes were torn and he was filthy but, more importantly, he was armed. A warblade was leveled at Glailen as he drew his weapon. Glailen began turning a slow circle and noted Silthrai doing the same. He counted quickly. 

“I count–” 

“Six,” Siltrhai cut in. Four men and two women drew closer, keeping the pair surrounded.

“Still happy to have taken the risk?” asked Glailen as he assumed a battle-ready pose.

“Oh, I don’t know. That tuk’ata tastes better than anything they give acolytes at the academy.” Despite himself, Glailen couldn’t help but grin. 

At that moment all six attackers rushed at once. Immediately Silthrai thrust out a hand and the two in front of her were thrown back to disappear into the darkness. She turned and face the woman rushing her from behind. Glailen didn’t have time to be impressed as his three opponents were upon him. The first lunged in but Glailen was able to deflect the blow and send the man stumbling into the woman approaching from behind. The third attacker, undeterred rushed in with frantic swings of his warblade. Blocking or dodging the strikes was easy and as Glailen delivered a solid punch to the man’s head that sent him to the ground, he felt certain he knew why. As the first two returned and Glailen found himself warding off both, his suspicions were confirmed. There was no style behind their attacks. Whoever these people were, they sought to win simply by overwhelming their targets. Glailen used his superior training to stay ahead of his opponents but as the third attacker rejoined the fight it was all he could do just to hold them off. His warblade was constantly needed to defend leaving him with the option of punching or kicking when he could. But every time he knocked down one they would get back up before he could deal with a second. Despite how things look, Glailen was hopeful of a victory. He may have been outnumbered but his enemies were malnourished; there was little strength behind their strikes as they relied on a frenzied offense. If he held out long enough he was certain they would be too tired to react. 

There was a cry and Glailen glanced across the fire where Silthrai now fought. She had delivered a damaging blow to her opponent’s arm but was now engaged with the two she had blown away earlier. One of Glailen’s attackers saw him distracted and rushed in to take advantage. Glailen, however, had expected the move. Almost too fast to see, Glailen’s warblade whipped through the air and licked across the man’s throat. His eyes grew wide at the sudden realization as he dropped his weapon to clutch at the wound. It was fatal, Glailen knew, as he brushed past the man to approach his two comrades. Then there was another cry from where Silthrai fought and this one sounded more urgent. As Glailen looked over he saw a woman curled up on the ground, clutching her stomach before lying still, but what caught his eye was Silthrai holding her leg where a warblade had scored a blow. 

Consumed with desperation, Glailen called upon the Force and leapt over the fire to land between Silthrai and her two remaining assailants. They paused at his sudden appearance but then wide, toothy, smiles spread across their faces. It seemed clear to them, and Glailen if he was being honest, that the advantage was firmly theirs as their two companions approached from the other side of the fire. A leg wound would seriously compromise Silthrai’s mobility, Glailen would have to bear the brunt of the coming assault. He sized up his foes as he held his weapon at the ready. Deep down he felt resigned to whatever would come next. 

“Come on then. The meat will burn.” Despite knowing he was likely about to die, a smile was on Glailen’s face as the two immediate attackers surged forward, howling with bloodlust. 

A hand pulled against Glailen’s shoulder and he looked back just as Silthrai lurched forward with a screech of fury, reaching out with a hand and suddenly lightning lashed out to engulf the two attackers. Glailen could only gap as she reached out with her second hand and the other attackers were similarly caught in an electric field. He wasn’t sure how long they stood writhing and screaming but it was enough to kill. The lightning finally stopped and all four collapsed lifelessly. Silthrai swayed on her feet and was about to fall as well when Glailen caught her and held her up. Glailen studied the smoldering corpses while beside him Silthrai laboured for breath.

“You couldn’t have done that earlier?” he asked.

“Not mad enough earlier.” Glailen grunted his understanding. He would be a hypocrite if he argued that. When Silthrai had regained her footing, Glailen nodded towards what remained of their attackers. 

“Who were they?” he asked, not really expecting an answer. 

“Academy rejects content to wander the wilderness of Korriban.”  
“Until they met you,” said Glailen. 

“Until they met us,” replied Silthrai in retort. Glailen glanced at her and she grinned back. 

“Smell that?” asked Glailen. The other acolyte gave a couple of sniffs of the night air before responding. 

“The meat burned.”

Glailen helped the injured acolyte over to her pack and she eased down, hissing at the sting from her wound. After examining the cut, Glailen went over to his own bag and rummaged around for a moment. When he returned to Silthrai, he began applying a kolto patch to the wound on her leg. Her eyebrows rose at the sight.

“Kolto patches – you came prepared. Surprised you were able to get your hands on any.” Glailen shrugged at the comment.

“My overseer is intent on ensuring I don’t fail.” A quizzical look was directed at Glailen.  
“Having an overseer take a personal interest in you; not sure if that makes you lucky or cursed. My overseer would probably be relieved to hear I died out here.” The casual statement gave Glailen pause.

“Why is that?” Even as he asked the question Glailen wondered if he couldn’t relate. The only reason Tremel would be upset with him dying would be because the overseer would have to start over with another acolyte.

“Because I was a slave until a couple of years ago.” Glailen frowned as he considered that. It sounded like their overseers would get along. _But there are no overseers here_ , thought Glailen fiercely.

“That shouldn’t matter. We can’t control where we come from and it doesn’t define our worth.” Silthrai looked at the other acolyte openly, almost like she were revaluating him. After a moment she shook her head. 

“Don’t need to tell me that but because I was indeed a slave and have hardly any Sith blood in me, Harkun thinks I’m little better than dirt. He’s much more interested in the other acolytes – particularly this one pure blood…it doesn’t matter. I’m used to it.” She waved a hand through the air to dismiss the conversation, as though she wasn’t bothered by the whole situation. From her tone and the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes, Glailen knew the opposite was true. He also knew enough not to press the issue. Who was he to make things personal? After a moment he let out a tired sigh.

“We should get some sleep.” Silthrai allowed Glailen to help her lie down without complaint. She rolled over and began breathing regularly. After taking a moment to look around, sensing for additional threats, Glailen went over to the other side of the fire and eased himself down. A long sigh escaped his lips as he closed his eyes. 

“I still have my name.” Glailen’s eyes opened and he looked over at Silthrai. She was lying still and facing away and for a moment Glailen thought he had imagined what he heard but then she continued.

“They took everything from me but I still have my name. That’s how I remember I’m not what they decide I am. Before the Sith, before the slave, there was a little girl and her dreams are too big to be stamped out.” Nothing more was forthcoming and Glailen wasn’t sure how long he lay staring at the other acolyte’s back. Listening to the crackling fire, he felt like he should add something. Some final offering to the night.

“You always have to remember where you came from or you’ll forget where you’re going.” Nodding at his own words, Glailen shut his eyes and soon fell asleep. 

The glare of light on his eyelids woke Glailen. He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he looked about. The fire had been reduced to no more than embers which was just as well for with the daylight came the heat that would soon have the acolyte sweating. Other than the fire pit and what remained of the tuk’ata, Glailen was alone. Silthrai was gone. Glailen didn’t look far though as he spotted a piece of parchment sticking out from a small rock next to where he had slept. He picked the up the note and read it. 

‘Sorry to leave in a hurry but I hate goodbyes. Thanks for not being a total Sith last night.

Try not to die, it would be nice to see you again.

Silthrai’ 

For a while Glailen sat looking at the note before finally folding it up and placing it in his bag. He stood and resumed his long march, finding his feet lighter this morning. His mind kept going back to the note and one line in particular. _Thanks for not being a total Sith…maybe I’m not the only one with different ideas of what the Sith could be._

* * *

  

After many hours of walking through the valley, Glailen reached the top of a rise and paused to survey his surroundings. Everywhere he looked just like all the rest – except for one spot. From the rise the land sloped down to the feet of a plateau and there could be made out what appeared to be statues or remains of some hand-crafted works of stone. There also looked to be fallen pillars leading the way to the same spot. Glailen consulted his map once again and felt a spark of hope; if he understood correctly then there was a good chance he was in the right place. Animated by the prospect of finally finding the Tomb of Marka Ragnos, Glailen set off towards the plateau with single-minded determination. 

The closer he came to his destination the more it appeared to Glailen that he had indeed come across the entrance to an ancient temple or tomb. When finally he could make out the entrance built into the red stone, he felt that sense of hope grow exponentially. His steps became quicker as his body felt renewed with energy. As he came closer he could confirm he had seen large statues but time and weather had eroded the features. Perhaps they had once shown the likeness of Marka Ragnos or maybe it had been another Sith lord and he was wasting time. The acolyte chose to believe the former. 

When he came to the entrance, Glailen stopped and peered inside. It was dark but, like all tombs on Korriban, the walls seemed to give off a faint light. Everything else looked still and silent which did nothing to calm Glailen’s nerves. Taking a deep breath, the acolyte took a step forward and passed through the threshold carefully. He was not interested in coming all this way just to be killed or maimed by some long forgotten trap. Nothing happened though as he entering the tomb and stopped just inside. Already he was faced with a new decision as immediately the tomb offered three different paths to be taken. One of those routes would eventually lead Glailen to the goal of his trial: a Beast of Marka Ragnos – and that was still difficult to accept. In order to pass his trial he would have to slay a creature chosen by Marka Ragnos himself. If he were a lesser man, Glailen would likely have resorted to becoming another acolyte outcast. As it was he saw no alternative to seeing the trial through to the end no matter how that would turn out for him. 

First he had to find his target but how? He could pick a path at random and possibly wander for days. Closing his eyes and concentrating, Glailen reached for the Force. Tremel had said the creature was strong because of its affinity to the dark side. Perhaps he could locate it through the Force and not wander aimlessly. Almost immediately Glailen felt surrounded by the dark side with all its temptation and power. It came as no surprise to him, being in a tomb belonging to a dark lord of the Sith – especially Marka Ragnos. The walls practically oozed with the Force which raised a new issue, maybe he wouldn’t be able to distinguish the beast from the rest of the tomb; like camouflage. But then, sure enough, he could feel it. There was one spot deep in the tomb that had a relatively stronger concentration of the dark side than anywhere else that Glailen could detect. With no better options available to him, Glailen began working his way towards the source. 

It wasn’t long before Glailen found there were more twists and turns to the tomb than he had anticipated. Several times he had to double back upon realizing he was moving further away from his destination. At times it was difficult to tell though; he would be the first to admit his ability to sense things in the Force was not anything impressive. Still, it was all he could do and so he kept on and ignored the stress of getting lost. As he made his way through the tunnels he noticed signs of recent activity; footprints left behind, debris pushed aside, dust and dirt disturbed. Glailen focused on his senses but noticed no sign that someone was close by. It was entirely possible that whoever had passed through did so days a day or more earlier. Eventually, as he got deeper into the tomb, all signs of other people vanished which didn’t strike Glailen as odd. It would take a brave soul to venture too deep into such a forbidden place. 

_Or an acolyte with an overseer expecting greatness out of him_ , thought Glailen bitterly. Sighing he pushed such thoughts aside and focused on the task. He was beginning to wonder if he would spend all day skulking through the tunnels when he came upon a large chamber. Hesitantly he entered and surveyed his new surroundings. It was rectangular in shape with the far wall collapsed. Round pillars with symbols carved into them rose up to the ceiling. What captured Glailen’s attention was along the wall to his left; a staircase led up a short way to a dais and on the dais he could see a sarcophagi of some sort. Remaining alert, the acolyte walked over to the stairs and ascended to the top. He looked over the stone encasing and marveled at the masonry. The likeness of a sleeping person – a pure blood Sith – had been carved into the stone. With certainty, Glailen knew he was staring at the final resting place of Marka Ragnos. 

_Have I been sensing you this whole time?_  

Slowly Glailen reached out a hand to lightly brush away some dust on the stone lid. A rumbling coxed him to spin around, drawing his warblade at the same time. He faced the pile of rubble where the wall had collapsed. The stones trembled ominously. Glailen tightened his hold on this weapon. 

An immense clawed limb erupted from the stone launching debris throughout the chamber. Then another limb appeared. Finally a large head burst forth and the rest of the body followed. A terrifying creature roared at Glailen who stood rooted in place. He was certain he had found the Beast of Marka Ragnos. The creature’s maw opened and closed menacingly and Glailen imagined himself being pulled whole into that pit of teeth. On two rather stubby legs the beast began to approach and for a moment the acolyte believed he could win by using greater speed his own legs would allow. Suddenly the creature launched itself at Glailen who had just enough time to leap over the grasping claws. As the arm passed under him Glailen slashed at it with his warblade. His feet landed on the limb and he immediately jumped off, flipping over the monster’s head and craving a path with his weapon. He had barely landed when he had to react to the creature charging him. Rolling aside, Glailen escaped the beast’s open mouth as it snapped shut where he had been a second earlier. Without pause the acolyte dashed past his foe and sliced at both its calves. 

At a safe distance, Glailen stopped and faced the creature. He became dismayed at the sight for the Beast of Marka Ragnos seemed not to notice any of the blows inflicted upon it. The beast’s hide was too tough for a warblade to make any significant damage. Frustrated and feeling the familiar sensation of fear creeping up his back, Glailen returned the warblade to its hook on his back and stared at the creature. It was walking towards him, mocking his seeming inability to resist. Concentrating on the Force, Glailen looked around the chamber until he found the stone from the collapsed wall on his right. He raised his right hand and thrust it out towards the beast. At the same time a large rock flew from the pile and smacked into the side of the monster’s head. It recoiled from the attack but then glared back with a snarl, blood oozing from a cut above its left eye. Without a moment’s hesitation, Glailen lifted as many rocks as he could and hurled them at the beast but it didn’t simply remain still this time. It charged him, pummeling through the stones and smashing its powerful fists on the ground at Glailen’s feet. The acolyte attempted to back step but was caught but one of the beast’s flailing arms and sent flying until he hit a wall. He fell to a sitting position and fought back against the clouds in his mind.

It was difficult to keep his eyes open but Glailen looked over at the creature just as it charged again, one vicious claw outstretched. At the last second the acolyte rolled feebly to the side and the claw struck the wall, striking deep gouges into the stone. The monster turned its terrifying gaze upon him and Glailen saw his death in those eyes. A death he couldn’t accept. He called upon as much of the Force as he could and pushed against the beast will all his might. Suddenly the creature was flung across the chamber to make a deafening crash against the far wall. 

Gasping, Glailen fell back and heaved for air but a voice in his head commanded he get up. He wasn’t done – the fight was not over. 

With a great show of strength, Glailen got to his feet. He then fell to his knees. Still labouring for breath, he stared across the chamber at the Beast of Marka Ragnos extricating itself from the impact point on the wall. Anger welled up inside the acolyte. It grew until it overcame exhaustion, pain and fear. 

The beast roared and charged its prey.

Glailen raised his hands to the sky, howling his defiance. 

Chunks of stone and stalactites shook free of the ceiling and plummeted to the floor. Some struck the beast as he ran. A stalactite became embedded in its shoulder causing it to stumble but still it came on. Glailen worked the Force through the rock above, forcing more and more to fall. The world shook around Glailen but he refused to let up. If he were to die then he would take the beast with him. With a final surge he brought down a torrent of rock and dirt. It showered around the monster as it attempted to push through.

Finally the conflagration became too much for the creature as it slowed and fell prey to boulders as large as itself. A claw reached through the dust only to fall short of where Glailen knelt. The acolyte waited for the scene to settle. When he could see through the dust he found the only thing still visible of the beast was the hand that had sought his flesh. It didn’t move.

Sighing his exhaustion, Glailen rose unsteadily to his feet then began walking slowly through the rubble. He made his way around the mound that was to serve as the grave for the Beast of Marka Ragnos, leaning on the pile of rocks to keep from falling over. As he came in sight of the entrance to the tunnel he stopped and stared. Four men wearing torn up acolyte tunics were hesitantly entering the room, gaping at the destruction. They spotted him shortly after he saw them and moved towards him. Their faces spoke of ill intentions. Glailen fumbled for his warblade and pushed off the mound.

“Alright, who wants to try their luck first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some liberties with the timeline, I know, but it flowed better this way.  
> Feels like I was working on this chapter forever...


	4. Darth Baras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having overcome every obstacle that's been placed before him, Glailen Reichscher is feeling confident in his abilities and place in the Sith Academy. Then he meets Darth Baras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I planned to make this chapter much longer but then I reached the point at the end that seemed like such a natural conclusion. Also I'm wondering if people prefer long chapters to work through or something relatively quicker. If anyone feels like adding their two cents, I'm all ears - eyes, whatever...

Chapter Three: Darth Baras

 

Walking up to the Sith Academy, Glailen wondered if he would look half-dead every time he came to the academy. By appearance he probably looked better than last time; his clothes were torn but he had fewer lacerations and bruises. He still felt like a shambling mess though, as he had run out of water the day before. In retrospect he should have found some water at the outpost on the outskirts of the Valley of Dark Lords but at the time he had just been relieved to fall into a hovercab. The trip through the skies had been all too short for his tired limbs but getting back up had impressed upon him just how desperate for water he was. It was just before noon and there were many people around the academy but none paid him much mind. That was fine, he hadn’t expected anyone to notice an acolyte looking worse for wear, but he was going to make his presence known. 

A group of Imperial troopers were standing around talking, Glailen chose them as he adjusted his direction. He was a few meters away when one noticed his approach and alerted the others. They all stared, waiting for him to draw closer. With their helmets on Glailen couldn’t tell what their expressions were but he also didn’t much care. He raised a heavy arm and pointed at the nearest trooper. 

“Your canteen,” he croaked, unable to properly wet his lips. To their credit, the trooper didn’t hesitate in presenting the desired item. Glailen stared possessively at the canteen as he took it from the trooper and raised it to his eager mouth. He drank greedily, taking large gulps while the group of troopers looked on. He wasn’t concerned with leaving the canteen empty. This close to the garrison, it would be a simple thing for the trooper to get a refill. When he was satisfied with almost drowning, Glailen wiped a hand over his mouth and handed the not-quite empty canteen back to its owner. 

“Thank you, trooper. You’re a life saver.” The soldier nodded as they returned the canteen to its spot at their hip. Glailen meant what he said; the canteen could have come from anyone but he felt genuine gratitude towards this person.

“Don’t mention it, sir,” replied the female voice.

“Just another day on Korriban, eh?” A male voice spoke in jest but Glailen wasn’t sure which soldier it had come from. He was about to respond when a familiar voice caught his ear. 

“Acolyte Reichscher,” called Y-5O3, it is good to see you have returned.” All heads turned to the droid standing a discreet distance off. For his part, Glailen was starting to find the droid’s presence somewhat comforting – even if Y-5O3’s appearance often meant a trip to Tremel’s office. Acknowledging the droid, Glailen turned his attention back to the troopers. 

“I have this feeling that the day is just beginning,” he said with a weak grin. Glailen waved a goodbye to the troopers and some even wished him luck with whatever came next. That brightened his mood but really, what did he have to feel down about? He had survived in the wilderness of Korriban, slain the Beast of Marka Ragnos and in so doing passed another trial and he was no longer hopelessly in need of water. Whatever Tremel had next for him he was ready to face it. _Though a change of clothes would be good._ As he came up to the Y-5O3 the droid gave him an appraising look.

“You’ll need new clothes.” The acolyte suppressed a grin. 

“I would have to agree with you,” he responded simply. 

“I shall see to it while you are in your meeting with Overseer Tremel.” Glailen considered the matter a moment before offering an alternative. 

“Thank you. I can find my way there on my own if you’d like to do that now. No need to waste time.” The droid gave him a side-long look before bowing in assent. 

“Very well, I will trust you to arrive in a timely manner.” With the matter settled, Glailen increased his pace to something more his preference. He soon lost sight of Y-5O3 as he entered the academy well ahead of the droid. 

When he came to the main hall he walked straight and with confidence feeling for the first time like he really belonged where he was. His latest trial hadn’t simply been another step to being declared Sith but also in proving to himself that he was ready. Not for other reasons he’d just as soon forget but for defeating a Beast of Marka Ragnos; a feat not many acolytes, he was sure, could have accomplished with their lives. When he was first selected to begin training to become a Sith, few had expected him to rise above the rank of initiate given his age. Himself among them. Now, though, he was well on his way and ready to keep rising. Everything just seemed clearer, in a way, though, he amended, it all looked somewhat…faded as well. Regardless of whether he should or not, he found he was getting used to the latter. 

He arrived at Tremel’s office in short order and without incident which he was glad for. The doors slid open at his approach and he entered to find the overseer sitting at his desk, eyes downcast. Immediately Glailen sensed the other man’s troubled mind and he paused still close to the door. He had expected Tremel to be at least pleased with his return but the overseer seemed too distracted to notice he was no longer alone. Finally the overseer looked up and Glailen saw the worry etched across a face that appeared to have aged a decade since last the two were in the same room. The acolyte calmed his body and waited for Tremel to speak. 

“Acolyte,” he began in a tired tone, “I’m glad to see you’ve returned alive and successful but we have important matters to discuss.” 

“I may have made a…miscalculation when I sent you slay the Beast of Marka Ragnos. The creature was a source of great dark side energy – more than I thought – and when it died there was a tremor in the Force. One which was felt by many in the academy but none more worryingly than Darth Baras.” Pausing, the overseer allowed a moment for his words to settle into the room. He needn’t have bothered as Glailen was hanging on his every word, fully aware of the severity he was hearing. 

“He’s requested an audience with you upon your arrival,” Tremel finished. His eyes searched that of the acolyte’s. The grave expression did little to calm Glailen’s nerves. With great effort, Glailen forced himself to speak with something approaching calm. 

“Do you think I’m ready for this?”

“It doesn’t matter if you are or not; he will not take no for an answer and I cannot protect you from this.” Glailen lowered his eyes at that. Not because he’s hearing anything unexpected – because he wasn’t – but because he needed to mentally prepare himself. 

“Baras is a serious man and cunning. He will always be looking to manipulate you. Never let your guard down, understand?” The acolyte returned his gaze to the other man, taking in the advice for what it was worth. 

“I do, overseer,” replied Glailen. There was nothing for him to do except fall back on his training and hold to discipline. There was a pause as Tremel looked Glailen up and down. Perhaps it was due to the overseer’s troubled mind but Glailen found he was having little difficulty sensing the other man’s feelings. Pity, disappointment, fear. _He looks at me and sees a cause that’s already lost_ , thought Glailen with more bitterness than he expected. Finally Tremel shook his head with a sigh. 

“You should make yourself look at least somewhat presentable first. Freshen up and when you’re ready Y-5O3 will show you to Baras’ chambers.” Nodding, Glailen turned to leave. 

“This may be the last time we see each other, Glailen. Remember what you fight for.” The sudden use of his first name gave Glailen paused as he regarded the overseer. Did it stem from some form of respect or had the pity won through? It didn’t matter. He was just about out of patience with Tremel’s fatalism.

“I never forget, overseer.”

As Glailen left the overseer’s office he considered waiting for Y-5O3 as per their agreement but, somehow, he imagined the droid would know where to go. If anyone called out to him as he made his way to his bunkroom, Glailen didn’t notice. His mind was far too preoccupied. Soon he would stand before a Darth who was no friend of the overseer who had facilitated his arrival to the Sith Academy of Korriban. That same overseer had in fact been planning on using Glailen as a weapon against that Darth. It wasn’t a stretch in the acolyte’s mind to believe that Darth Baras knew of that plot already.

Upon reaching his bunkroom, Glailen glanced at his bed. Sitting neatly on it were new clothes and next to those a tray of food with a cup of water. Knowing who was responsible would have brought some amusement to the acolyte less than an hour ago but now all he saw was necessary preparation for the battle ahead. There was a shower halfway down the room which Glailen entered after stripping off the rags he had used as clothes. One other acolyte was in the shower but neither men did more than glance at each other. It was a sonic shower, of course. Like just about everything at the academy, the best was reserved for those above the rank of acolyte or a garrison member of sufficient rank. Glailen didn’t mind, he was used to settling for less than the luxury of water showers. He was once told a soldier couldn’t prepare for anything but cleaning up properly and a fresh uniform certainly helped. With thoughts on the next couple of hours, the acolyte hoped truer words had never been spoken. 

He stayed in the shower longer than necessary, partly because it felt like he hadn’t been clean in weeks but also because a part of him was avoiding the coming meeting. Reluctantly he left the shower and donned his fresh clothes; the tray was quickly emptied of food. Sitting on the edge of his bunk, hands in his lap, Glailen focused on his breathing, soothing his nerves. If nothing else, the feel of new clothes, being clean and a full stomach all served to improve his mood. He was as prepared as he could possibly be. It was at the moment the acolyte had finally calmed his mind that the door to the room slid open and Y-5O3 stood at the entrance. Glailen rose smoothly and walked over to the droid who appraised his condition. 

“I must say, you are looking far more presentable, Acolyte Reichscher.” 

“A good thing considering my next appointment,” he responded evenly. Y-5O3 bowed slightly in agreement. 

“Quite so. If you will follow me?” Without waiting for an answer, the droid began leading the way. Glailen followed close behind. 

They hadn’t been walking long before Glailen noticed an unmistakable shift in the building’s architecture. Rooms were spaced further apart, the doors large and beyond them he sensed undeniable power. In front of one of these doors Y-5O3 paused to input a code on a keypad. The door opened and the pair entered to a large waiting room, there was a closed door on each wall. Y-5O3 went to the one directly ahead and again worked a keypad a moment before the doors opened with a deathly silence. Glailen’s eyes immediately raced along the scene he was shown. The spacious office was occupied by half a dozen acolytes and among them was Vemrin himself. It was not the acolytes who held Glailen’s gaze, however; that was reserved for the fully armoured man sitting behind the large desk in the center of the room. Glailen need no help in identifying the intimidating figure as Darth Baras.

The Darth’s face was hidden behind a metallic mask. The eye on the left side was completely covered over – hinting at a grievous injury incurred perhaps – while the right had only a small rectangular slit for someone to see through. Glailen felt himself drawn to that opening as though if he looked hard enough he could discern all the secrets of the man within. Then he felt the eye behind it find him. He struggled to hold down the fear that sought to take him. Glailen knew he was staring at someone with real power. Someone who, if they chose, could kill everyone in the room without leaving their seat.

_Oh, Tremel, how was I ever supposed to be ready for this?_  

Next to Glailen, Y-5O3 stood still without a sound. Having not received an invitation to enter the chamber, Glailen was happy to emulate the droid. 

“You have your task. If you die you, will be forgotten; if you give up, you will be killed. Now go.” Having been dismissed by the dark lord, the other acolytes turned and began to file out of the room. Vemrin came last and stopped next to Glailen though neither faced the other. 

“I know you killed Dolgis.” The dark tone of Vemrin’s voice was unmistakable even in a whisper. 

“No idea what you’re talking about,” said Glailen, not willing to fall into some sort of trap of admitting the crime. There was a pause that lasted no more than a heartbeat but the significance between the two was immense. Vemrin’s head made the slightest of turns towards Glailen. 

“Stay out of my way. Final warning.” 

“Acolyte; Step forward.” Glailen’s attention snapped to Darth Baras who had spoken. With a deliberate pace, he walked closer to the table. In the back of his mind he felt Vemrin finally leave but he kept his eyes on the dark lord as he stopped ten paces away. That unyielding mask seemed to study him far longer than was necessary but Glailen kept his expression neutral. 

“Are you having trouble with Acolyte Vemrin, supplicant?” 

“Nothing serious, my lord,” Glailen replied easily. 

“He is quite capable of backing up his threats. You would do well not to underestimate him.” Glailen wasn’t able to sense the other man’s feelings – he didn’t even bother trying against a Darth – but he didn’t need the Force to know Baras’ disdain. The dark lord made no effort to hide it though he kept his tone almost conversational. Baras stood from his chair and began slowly walking around the table. 

“Unlike yourself, he has earned his place here by beating odds stacked against him. Let me get a look at you.” No more than a few paces now separated the two and Glailen could feel the sweat roll down his back. A few miles wouldn’t have been enough for his liking. After a long moment the Darth gave a slow shake of his head. 

“As I suspected. Soft. Tremel has done this academy and the order a great disservice by pampering you as he has.” 

_Pampering?_  

Glailen swallowed hard. Complete submission would earn him no favours. He had to show he wasn’t without a backbone. 

“Can’t say I’ve felt pampered since arriving,” he said, matching Baras’ – minus the contempt. The dark lord’s head tilted ever so slightly to the side. 

“And yet that is exactly what has happened. The process of becoming Sith is very deliberate but Tremel has rushed things along for you. You don’t even have a proper understanding of what it means to be Sith. It makes a mockery of everything that man claims to stand for.” Though he wanted to respond to the accusation, Glailen kept his mouth shut. He had to pick his battles and he couldn’t really challenge a Darth on what it meant to be Sith. Baras seemed to invite a retort as the silence stretched on but finally clasped his hands behind his back before speaking. 

“Recite the Sith Code, acolyte, and explain its meaning in battle, war and politics.” That silence returned now but heavier. Glailen knew the code by heart – of course he did, it had been beaten into him, he went through it when he woke up and when he went to sleep. Applying to several aspects of life, however, would be more complicated. He cleared his throat and spoke clearly. 

“Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion I gain strength, through strength power, through power victory. Through Victory my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.”

“Go on,” prompted Baras. Glailen thought carefully and elected to follow his feelings. 

“It means I must look to myself and my natural connection to the Force if I want to become all that I can.” Keeping his eyes trained on a point beyond Darth Baras, Glailen watched the other man out of his periphery. Baras did not appear satisfied. 

“As I said; no understanding at all.” 

“You have great potential,” continued Baras as he turned and walked back to his desk, “that much is undeniable, but you lack so much more. We’ll need to rectify that.” Glailen felt his blood go cold as he anticipated what came next. 

“I am your master now. Tremel has crossed the final line and shown himself to be the liability I knew he was. With his refusal to adapt to the new Sith paradigm and his efforts to revert progress he has revealed himself as a traitor and traitors,” “are executed.” 

“Go to Overseer Tremel and kill him. For this I grant you immunity from punishment.” 

“If it must be done,” said Glailen, unable to keep the turmoil from his voice. Baras caught it, of course. He leaned forward in his chair slowly.

“Make no mistake, acolyte, I am not asking. Go.” 

“At once, my…Master.” Glailen bowed low – lower than he could remember doing – before turning on his heel and leaving the room. It took nearly all his will to keep from running. Y-5O3 wasn’t there anymore. That was fine; he knew where he was going.

 

* * *

 

“Acolyte? I wasn’t expecting you to return so soon, if at all.” Tremel is seated behind his desk, going over something on a holoscreen. Glailen enters the room calmly, he thinks, but avoids eye contact. Unsurprisingly, the overseer picks up on the mood almost immediately. 

“What is it?” he asks though Glailen would have bet he had a good idea already. The acolyte licked his dry lips. His hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting at his sides. 

“I’ve been sent by Baras to kill you.” 

“I see.” Neither man said anything for a long minute. Tremel was the first to break the silence with a tired sigh. 

“Either you kill me or I am forced to kill you. A masterstroke,” he stated, pushing his chair back as he stood up. 

“I have been outplayed. For what it’s worth, acolyte, I’ll make it as painless as possible.” In response to the matter-of-fact, almost bored, tone, Glailen’s eyes shot up to meet the overseer’s. 

“You’re so certain you’ll win?” 

“Please, acolyte,” Tremel said with a wave of his hand, “you’re about to fight a Sith and _you_ are not Sith.” The self-assurance in the overseer’s voice, was it unearned? Glailen found he didn’t really care, only that it angered him. After everything the other man had put him through, Glailen proven he wasn’t weak. Certainly not someone to be disregarded and yet Tremel believed the outcome of their fight a foregone conclusion. He unhooked the lightsaber from his belt so casually Glailen wondered if he couldn’t have used the Force to snatch the weapon away. 

“Perhaps I can find a way to salvage this situation.” By the Force, the man even sounded distracted, his mind already racing ahead of the fight. 

Glailen lowered himself into a battle-stance. He, at least, would not underestimate his opponent. There was no way he would simply accept death without giving his all to survive. Too much would be left undone.

At that moment Tremel had the audacity to look away as though Glailen posed no real threat to him. 

In an instant Glailan drew upon the Force to increase his strength and reflexes as he dashed forward, warblade flashing for a quick kill. A look of shock crossed the overseer’s face as he reacted at the last moment. A blood-red lightsaber blade sprung to life in the path of the warblade. The weapons clashed together and crackled with energy. 

“Smart move, acolyte, but–” Whatever Tremel had been about to say was cut off as Glailen shoved aside the lighsaber and swung again with his own weapon. Again Tremel blocked the blow but Glailen remained undeterred. The acolyte pushed hard and Tremel gave ground easily but continued to defend against all of the strikes sent his way. 

After a series of unsuccessful attacks, Glailen deliberately slowed his movements. Tremel must have seen it as weakness and obligingly went on the offensive. Now it was Glailen who backpedaled but he did so willingly as he tested how his opponent handled attacking. Again Tremel showed excellent technique but it continued to suffer from his distraction. It was more than that though. The form was there but it lacked conviction – that killing instinct. Not quite the same as Devotek but similar. Perhaps the passage of years had not been kind to Tremel or maybe he had grown sloppy in his training after working behind a desk for so long. Whatever the case may have been, what Glailen lacked in experience he found he could more than make up for with youthful stamina. Already the signs were beginning to show on Tremel; his breathing was harder and sweat glistened on his brow while Glailen still felt fresh. Still, he couldn’t let his guard down nor take victory for granted. He needed to take what he’d glean from the past minute or so of fighting and the perfect moment to capitalize. 

As the red blade continued to dance around, Glailen began feigning exhaustion. He made it look as though he could barely keep up and that he laboured for breath. At precisely the moment when he felt Tremel’s confidence reach its peak, Glailen left himself open, allowing the overseer to swat aside his warblade. He looked completely unguarded; beaten. Tremel redirected his lightsaber and lunged for the acolyte’s chest. Suddenly Glailen sidestepped to his left, allowing Tremel’s momentum to carry him forward too far. Before the overseer could react, Glailen grabbed the wrist of the other man’s dominant arm and struck hard at the elbow with his fist still enclosed around the warblade. There was a sickening snap as the joint was overextended and bone burst from flesh. The lightsaber fell from unresponsive fingers but Glailen caught it before it hit the ground. Tremel fell to his knees, cradling his arm while screaming through clenched teeth.

Glailen waited for the overseer to gain some measure of control over the pain. Breathing raggedly, he looked up at the acolyte who had bested him. 

“Incredible,” he breathed, “I never thought…” Glailen regarded the man impassively. He felt the lightsaber in his right hand and considered how pleasing it was. It wasn’t his but it felt right to be holding one. After a moment Tremel rose unsteadily to his feet. He met the acolyte’s eyes with a determined look. 

“You are ready. Ready to be Sith. Not even Baras will be able to dispute that now.” Were Tremel’s words valid or was the shock of his injury and defeat wearing on his mind? 

“Go. Stop Vemrin. Stop Baras. Preserve the Sith. I die with certainty in my heart that you will succeed.” There was a pause as Tremel awaited his fate and Glailen considered his next words, his next actions. He looked down at the lightsaber, he didn’t remember igniting it, and switched it off. No matter how right it felt in his hands, he had not earned the right to use it. Dispassionate eyes turned to the overseer. 

“Not everyone is stuck on the _purity_ of the Sith, Tremel.” Confusion crossed the overseer’s face and then understanding. Glailen struck before he could utter a word, his warblade carving a path across Tremel’s chest. He collapsed to the ground, mouth hanging open and eyes wide but unseeing.

It came as no surprise to Glailen that he felt no pleasure at killing Tremel but neither did he feel remorse. He had simply completed a task placed before him and if that meant he no longer had to pretend to care for Sith elitism then that was at least a silver lining. A part of him still felt anger towards the former overseer though. That he would dismiss Glailen as a failed project so easily only to assume Glailen would continue his work once the acolyte had proven stronger than anticipated. Hooking the lightsaber to his belt, Glailen knelt down and separated Tremel’s right hand from his body. 

_You blinded yourself Tremel. That is why your story ends._  

“Oh dear, it would appear Overseer Tremel has met with an unfortunate end.” Spinning around, Glailen faced the doorway where a familiar droid stood surveying the scene. This was a far more incriminating act than the last time they were in this situation. 

“Y-5O3, I…” the words died on his lips as Glailen’s gaze returned to the cold hand he held. 

“Worry not, Acolyte Reichscher, I know Darth Baras authorized this engagement. I shall notify sanitation services.” 

“You’re not at all…concerned?” he asked, not really sure what to expect. 

“Of course not. The academy endures.” Glailen considered those words as the droid walked into the office and stopped before the remains of Tremel. 

_The Empire endures,_ he thought, _and isn’t that the perfect summarization of our purpose?_  

“I’m returning to Darth Baras.” He marched from the office without a look back. 

“Stay well,” Y-5O3 called after him.

 

* * *

 

Standing perfectly straight, Glailen waited patiently in the deathly quiet room. Seated before him was Darth Baras examining the hand of the recently deceased Overseer Tremel. He turned it over as though gauging the worth of a trinket. It was a few minutes before he placed the hand to the side of the table and clasped his own together in front of him. That hidden gaze regarded Glailen for another minute. 

“Now you are free of Tremel’s shackles,” he said at last. 

“And yours are fresh on my skin,” Glailen responded to the analogy in kind, unperturbed at giving away his thoughts on the situation. 

“You’ll find mine a significant improvement.” There was the slightest sense of amusement coming from the other man but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“However,” he continued, “you will find I am not as forgiving as Tremel. I expect perfection out of you, especially if you are to become my apprentice. After all, your performance is a reflection on myself.” Glailen remained silent as he absorbed those words and the stern warning behind them. Satisfied, Baras moved on.”

“Your trials will continue.” 

“I am ready, Master.” Despite everything else, Glailen was ready to resume his trials. The sooner he completed them the better in his mind. Baras tilted his head as though sensing what Glailen was thinking. 

“For your sake you had better be. The other acolytes have already left.” Glailen thought back to the acolytes who had been in the room earlier and considered the lead they had on him. It wasn’t insurmountable, merely a challenge. Baras continued after a moment.

“In the Tomb of Tulak Hord are ruins that once had ancient inscriptions adorning their walls. They now lie in pieces. You must venture into the tombs and bring me back a piece from each inscription. Do this or you will die.”

_Another trial, another tomb,_ thought Glailen. _Perhaps I shall visit the final resting places of all notable Sith before my time on Korriban is done._

“Consider it done, Master.” Bowing low, the acolyte turned to leave and was halfway to the door. 

“One more thing, acolyte, before you go.” Pausing, Glailen looked back at the seated Darth. He looked so unconcerned but utterly in control. The acolyte had no illusions about surviving his trials only to become the apprentice of this dark lord. He would be trapped but at least able to put some space between them. 

“There are no rules as to how the pieces are collected and the other acolytes know that.” If the simple statement had been meant to shaken Glailen then Baras was to be disappointed. Glailen had already been expecting to bloody his hands.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately there was no map for Glailen to rely on this time as he made his way towards the valley containing Tulak Hord’s tomb. Luckily it didn’t require a trip to the Valley of the Dark Lords. The tomb in question was in a valley but one significantly closer to the Sith Academy; no more than half a days walk, according to Y-5O3. As usual the droid had made an appearance when needed, providing Glailen with a resupplied pack and decent directions to get started. Glailen didn’t like to think how his performance in the trials would have gone had he not had the assistance on Y-5O3. But however helpful the droid was it couldn’t do anything for the acolyte as he picked his way through a cave. The valley was surrounded by large rock formations – many of which held tombs and underground chambers – was through a tunnel built many generations ago. It would have been an easy walk but, as a garrison trooper had informed Glailen, a slave rebellion the previous year had seen excessive damage done as the slaves had sought to take refuge in the valley. Reconstruction work was still being conducted but not considered high priority by the Ministry of Logistics. When Glailen finally found his way out of the tunnel he wondered why he’d prefer to be; under the high sun or underground. Sure it was grounded with debris, troopers and slaves but it was also pleasantly cool. Of course he couldn’t go back though, not yet.

Looking around, Glailen noticed the valley had more pronounced hills and clusters of jutting rocks but he could already tell it was smaller than the Valley of Dark Lords. That was relatively speaking though, he could still wander for days or weeks trying to find the right tomb. If there were dozens of other Sith buried in the area than he wouldn’t be surprised. More to the point, he had no idea where to start looking. But that was the point; part of the trial. Focusing on the dark side, Glailen sat down cross-legged and closed his eyes. Meditation came easily for him and in moments he lost sense of everything except the Force. The Force enveloped him and he bent it to his will. He trusted his feelings to guide him but remained until his mind held absolute certainty. When his eyes opened, he stood up and began walking.

It was slow going with the rolling hills to deal with but after a few hours Glailen came to a stairway. He followed it up a short distance to a landing at the end of which was an entrance to an artificial cave. With great caution he walked in, wondering how many of the other acolytes had found their way here. They probably knew where the Tomb of Tulak Hord was after spending months or years on Korriban while Glailen was still in his first week. No one was there to greet him but he did see signs someone had been through recently. He proceeded slowly, reaching out with the Force for any hint of danger. A sigh escaped his lips. He was certain he was in the right place but now he had to search it to find the pieces of stone Baras demanded. The possibility that he would spend the night in the tomb had crossed his mind. 

Not long after beginning his search he came across someone – an acolyte – slumped against a wall, their warblade just out of reach. Glailen crouched down to check the man’s pulse but stopped upon getting a closer look. Burns marks swept across his body where someone had struck at joints and hunted for arteries. The killer had taken apart the dead acolyte with a show of sadistic skill. The thought of encountering the one responsible filled Glailen with both excitement at testing his mettle and dread at possibly succumbing to the same fate. Leaving the scene, Glailen had doubts he would encounter anything more gruesome that day. 

Less than an hour later he was proven wrong.

The scream started low but grew in intensity quickly. Glailen halted and drew his warblade as he realized it was coming from the tunnel ahead that made a sharp turn out of view. Still the terrified scream rose in volume as Glailen struggled to calm his beating heart for whatever came next. 

A woman rushed around the corner, her momentum sending her colliding with the wall in front of her. Before she could push off a shape – some kind of winged creature – collided with her. Long curved claws raked into the woman even as she smacked it aside. Then another flew into her, frenzied for the warm flesh. It too was swatted away and this time the woman was able to begin moving again right as another creature hit the wall she had been an instant earlier. She made to run towards Glailen or, more likely, past him; but stumbled and fell to the ground. There was no time for her to get back up as one of the winged beasts landed on her back, claws digging in, and its beaked mouth darted forward to tear into her flesh. Frantic screams erupted from the woman as her wide eyes, pools of terror, found Glailen’s. She reached out with a hand to the man standing several meters away; a lifeline from the horror. A creature landed in front of her, blocking Glailen’s view. Glailen couldn’t see what its head darted towards, but he could see what it took as its hand yanked back and for an instant he viewed one of those wide eyes dangling from its beak. The woman reared back, her impossibly loud screams turning to complete agony. A moment later she was buried in the creatures as more came around the corner and dove for the vulnerable prey. The screams ended abruptly. It took only a second more for some of the beasts to start noticing Glailen. 

Time slowed as Glailen’s eyes roamed over the threats, anticipating the fight. He breathed in deep and exhaled slowly as he adopted a battle stance. One by one the flying hunters swept towards him, shrieking their bloodlust. The acolyte stood his ground and waited. When the first beast came close he swung his warblade and quickly surrendered to his instincts. The warblade flashed through the air relentlessly moving with all the speed Glailen could grant it. As a creature was struck, he angled his body so the carcass flew past, already forgotten as there wasn’t even a heartbeat between the beasts. Blood splattered Glailen. From the creatures as they died and from himself as seeking claws scored hits. Glailen ignored the blood, ignored the pain. He had no time to focus on anything other than the act of killing. 

Finally the last winged creature was skewered on Glailen’s warblade. He froze as he processed the fight and caught his breath. As quickly as it had begun it was over and the acolyte was left in silence save for his own heavy breathing the barely audible sound of sizzling flesh. Glailen eased himself into a resting position, the creature sliding off his weapon, and glanced back the way he came. Some two dozen of the beasts lay dead now. In front of him was one dead acolyte. He spared a glance at what remained of the woman before forcing her from his mind. Kneeling down, he unslung his pack and rummaged through for some kolto patches to begin attending to his wounds. 

A couple of hours passed before Glailen found what he was looking for and he knew it was the right place as soon as he walked in. It was a large room, hexagonal in shape and in the center stood a large pillar with runes worked into the stone. Baras had mentioned the inscriptions were shattered which meant the pillar was not the right spot to look. He wandered around the chamber, coming across the remains of two acolytes in close proximity to each other. It didn’t take an expert in forensics to tell they had encountered the winged creatures and not fared well. Close to them, however, were shards of stone that looked to have been crafted and once part of some large tablet. A quick examination showed they had writing on them. Satisfied, Glailen picked up a decent sized piece that would fit in his pack without taking up too much space. He just had to prove that he had found what Baras wanted. There would be shards to other tablets though so Glailen continued his look around the chamber, walking along the walls. The wall opposite the entrance had another similarly shattered slab of stone so he took a piece from there as well. Near the wall opposite the site of the first shard Glailen found the last though it was easy to see from a distance. On the floor in front of the shards lay another acolyte; unmoving, of course. The body was lying face down but appeared unharmed – then Glailen got close and could see the hole burned through the back of their neck, through which he could see the whites of their teeth. Glailen would have bet his warblade the culprit was the same person who murdered the first acolyte he found. There was nothing to be done about it, however, as he crouched down and retrieved the last piece he would need. He retreated from the chamber, eager to leave the tomb behind. 

As he came in sight of the exit he could see the sun was setting. He considered spending the night in the valley – there was no way he would fall asleep in the tomb with the chance of encountering more flying beasts – but decided against it. What he really wanted was to get back to the academy as soon as possible and ultimately he wasn’t too tired to continue. Resolved to keep walking through the night, Glailen quickened his pace a little only to stop dead. Through the Force he could sense he wasn’t alone and he didn’t wait for whoever it was to show themselves before he had his warblade in hand. After a moment a man stepped out from an alcove. He was smaller than Glailen but lean, dirty blonde hair matted to his forehead by sweat. In his right hand was a warblade, it was active. His eyes moved from side to side as though constantly expecting a threat to appear. 

He was a picture of worn-out desperation. 

“You did it, didn’t you? Got all the shards I mean.” It didn’t sound like a question coming from the other man but Glailen had no interest in answering either way. 

“You need to get out of my way.” His tone was firm but the other man seemed not to even notice he had spoken. 

“There’s only three of us left. Vemrin’s already gone off to Baras; the others were either killed by him or by the shyracks. That leaves you and me.” Those shifting eyes met Glailen’s and he could see the madness brewing within. What had happened in the tomb had all but broken the other acolyte. Tragic, but Glailen had somewhere to be.

“Step aside.” 

“I can’t go back without the shards. I can’t!” The man raced towards Glailen, shouting a primal howl to the night that echoed off the tomb walls. When a meter separated the two, Glailen moved to meet him. Then they stood paces apart with their backs to each other.

A warblade clattered to the stone floor.

“I…I…” The acolyte dropped to his knees. 

“I don’t want to be Sith…” He slumped over and remained still. 

Without looking back, Glailen began his walk through the valley, through the tunnel, back to the academy. His backpack felt heavier than he thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the first chapter that actually needed the "graphic depictions of violence" tag but it certainly won't be the last! *winkwinknudgenudge*  
> Anyway, off to the next chapter and I have to say I'm quite excited to write it.


	5. To be Sith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final trial approaches. Between Glailen and Vemrin, only one can become the new apprentice of Darth Baras. Failure is unthinkable and they'll do anything to make sure the other doesn't succeed. Glailen feels that he is as ready and focused as he has ever been but how will he fair when a twi'lek woman by the name of Vette is thrust into the picture?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Okay. I'm sorry this one took so long. I have a list of excuses but I won't waste anyone's time with it. All I can say is I'll make sure the next chapter doesn't take three damn months. With that being said, I hope every one enjoys this chapter.

It was dark when Glailen reached the Sith Academy. He didn’t have trouble finding his way though, there were many lights around the academy, but he did have to be cautious when approaching the guards. With all of the aggressive wildlife on the planet, they were likely to shoot first at something that moved too fast for their liking. Their sensors must have picked him up because they had their rifles trained in his direction even though they wouldn’t have been able to see him yet. When he was a few meters from the light one of the troopers stepped forth. 

“Identify yourself!” they called out. 

“Acolyte Reichscher.” The trooper held out a hand and Glailen paused, spreading his hands wide to indicate he was not a threat. He waited patiently as the lead trooper communicated via the comms in their helmet with someone. After a moment the trooper waved him forward. 

“Approach slowly.” The blasters remained on Glailen until he stepped fully into the light, then suddenly the tension dissipated. 

“Alright, you’re clear, sir.” Nodding, the acolyte lowered his hands to his side and walked normally. 

“Sorry but we have to be careful – even here – and most acolytes either get back before nightfall or wait until morning. Gets a bit too cold to be wandering in the dark.” 

“I understand but I’m on something of a strict timetable,” Glailen responded but did not stop in his approach. He nodded to the troopers as he passed them. 

“Well, don’t let me keep you, sir.” 

Glailen barely heard the last comment. All he wanted at the moment was to return to Darth Baras as soon as possible. The Darth struck Glailen as someone whose opinion of another decreased dramatically the longer he was kept waiting. Besides that, he knew Vemrin had almost certainly arrived ahead of him and shortening the gap between their arrivals was likely to increase Baras’ opinion slightly. Baras had mentioned Vemrin working against stacked odds and now he seemed intent on testing Glailen similarly. Just when he was getting Tremel to believe he was capable he was now in a position where he had to convince someone else. 

_And that all started with Tremel dying by my hand._  

Glailen thought back to the encounter. He knew there had been more to it than Baras simply removing an irritation. It was also a warning to Glailen himself; if he stepped out of line then he wouldn’t get the opportunity to disappoint another. Tremel had warned against Baras’ actions having many layers and it had been wise. Glailen was still an acolyte and he still considered himself in need of training but Tremel himself had offered nothing except that warning. The fact that said warning may well be the most important thing Glailen takes away from his time on Korriban was not lost on him. First, however, he had to secure the apprenticeship to Darth Baras. It was highly unlikely the Darth would leave any other avenue open to the acolyte. If he wasn’t under the guidance and control of Baras then he would never be Sith. With all of that in mind, Glailen sensed the final stage of his trials was close at hand. He couldn’t waver now. 

Glailen had just entered the main hall when he noticed the familiar chassis of Y-5O3. An instant later the droid turned to him. 

“Acolyte Reichscher, good to see you have returned so soon. I hope you remembered to stay hydrated out there?” 

_If nothing else_ , thought Glailen, _at least I don’t have to feel threatened from you._  

“Yes, thank you, I managed to keep to a strict schedule but, as you said, I wasn’t out long.” 

“Quite right,” chimed Y-5O3. Glailen nodded a couple of times as he fumbled with how to proceed. It was silly, he knew, but he nevertheless found it difficult to ask the droid for help.

“Are you busy at the moment?” 

“Not at this time, no. Is there some way I can assist you?” The tone the droid used gave the perfect sense of eager to help without being overbearing which helped to ease Glailen’s mind. He unslung his pack and pulled out the shards from the tomb; the bag he held out to Y-5O3.

“I believe I won’t remain at the academy for very long. Would you be able to resupply my pack for another extended leave?” Without hesitation the droid took the pack and held it close as though it were precious cargo. 

“Of course, I shall have it ready for you shortly.” 

“Excellent. Can you bring it to Darth Baras’ chambers when ready?” Suddenly Y-5O3’s optics whirred in what Glailen could only describe as uncertainty or confusion. The slightest tilt in the droid’s head only added to the appearance.

“Where else would I bring it?”

The two stared at each other for a long moment as Glailen struggled with a response. In the end he had to yield.

“Hm. Nevermind.” 

Considering the matter settled, both droid and acolyte went their separate ways. As far as tasks went, Glailen almost felt jealous of the droid but he quickly clamped down on that feeling. If he wanted to be Sith – and he did – then he had to accept what hardships and unpleasantness were required. He kept reminding himself of that as he came to the chambers of Darth Baras. He stopped just inside the door, waiting to be addressed. As expected, Vemrin was already there looking very satisfied as Baras spoke with him. Also expected was the fact no other acolytes had returned. Until now. That featureless mask turned to regard Glailen and there was the slightest sense of amusement from the dark lord. Vemrin, noting Baras’ distraction, turned to find Glailen and his expression darkened. Had that look been directed at a full Sith it would have meant Vemrin’s life. With Glailen it was merely par the course. 

“The prodigal supplicant returns,” commented Baras, gesturing for Glailen to come closer. The Darth turned his attention to the third man in the room. 

“It would seem your hopes have been dashed, Vemrin.” 

“Appearances can be deceiving,” growled the acolyte in response. 

“Forgive Vemrin, acolyte, he was expecting you to fail miserably. If you are here, however, that means you didn’t fail because, after all, it would be unwise to stand before me otherwise.” The ominous warning in those words was not lost on Glailen even though that mask did not turn towards him. But, of course, he hadn’t failed. 

“Agreed, which is why I do not come empty handed, Master.” He shifted the shards held under his arm to draw attention to them. Suddenly they flew out from where he held them but Glailen was unperturbed. He recognized the Force at work as the pieces floated over to Baras a moment before continuing to rest on his desk. 

“Excellent.” As he spoke, the Darth turned to face Glailen with hands clasped behind his back. A second later the mask slid back to Vemrin and Glailen felt his heart quicken. 

“Only one of you can become my apprentice. For some time I thought that would be you, Vemrin,” Baras’ gaze suddenly shifted to Glailen with a blunt casualness, “but I’ve changed my mind.” Glailen exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in as Vemrin gaped his own disbelief. 

“What? I’ve done – I’m better than any other acolyte at this academy!” Sensing weakness in his rival, Glailen decided to further disrupt his concentration by twisting the knife. 

“Ignore Vemrin, Master, he’s starting to recognize the world crumbling around him.” The cornered acolyte rounded on Glailen with a snarl. 

“I will not be ignored. Certainly not by some nobody who has had everything handed to him!”

“Allow me to explain something to you, Master, I have come to understand that Vemrin is a fool.” Glailen refused to look at the other acolyte, giving an indication that he was beneath notice. That didn’t stop a twisted grin from spreading across Vemrin’s face. 

“Not foolish enough to get caught for murder.” It was not an unexpected retort. Glailen did not rise to it – nor give in to the urge to cover his facial tattoo – but he would respond. 

“A good thing – the overseers would have broken you.” 

“The tension between the two of you is immense,” Baras cut in with a chuckle, “a great source of energy to feed on. When it all boils over…who knows what will happen?” The two acolytes fell silent and gave the Darth their full attention. Hands clasped behind his back, Baras studied them for a time before giving a slight nod, apparently coming to a conclusion. 

“As things stand the two of you are very nearly equals but I sense a lingering power in you, Acolyte Glailen. It has made my decision easy.” Pride swelled in Glailen, which came as a surprise to him, but he was interested in what the Sith lord had to say. Could he really sense something hidden in the acolyte? Vemrin, for his part, was about to argue his case further but then the mask turned to him fully. Anything he had been about to say died quickly on his tongue. 

“Go, Vemrin, you have you instructions.” Baras’ tone left no room for further discussion. As Vemrin turned to leave he directed a final murderous stare at the other acolyte. Glailen let it roll over him without concern. Footsteps retreated from the room and eventually there could be heard the sound of a door opening momentarily before shutting again. Baras allowed the silence to stretch on. Glailen wondered how long it would take for him to grow used to the dark lord’s presence. 

“While I have placed my faith in you, acolyte, Vemrin still has a chance of succeeding. The final trial consists of retrieving a lightsaber from a hidden vault in the tomb of Naga Sadow. Whoever gets it first will become Sith and my new apprentice.” Anxiety and excitement danced in Glailen’s mind; Vemrin was no doubt already on his way giving him yet another lead but the prospect of obtaining a lightsaber to call his own made Glailen extra eager to begin. At his side he still felt the absence of weight where he had placed Tremel’s lightsaber for only a short time before Baras took it. He didn’t begrudge Baras taking what the acolyte hadn’t earned but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss it. Now he could truly earn it. 

“I am ready, my Master.”

 “Are you now?” Baras turned away as he spoke, going over to sit at the chair behind his desk. The question was very nearly an accusation but Glailen did not offer a retort. He had no reason to defend himself. After everything that had come and with all that still needed to, he knew he was ready. When the Darth had settled himself, he continued. 

“The vault in question can only be entered by secret means and few Sith have been able to discern the path. But there is a twi’lek who managed to do so; she’s rotting in the prison cells as we speak. I offered her to Vemrin to use her experience as he saw fit but he claimed he didn’t need the assistance of any sub-human species.” There was some amusement in Baras’ tone as he spoke, which Glailen wondered at. Tremel’s warnings came to mind; Vemrin was allowing his pride to distract him from making calculated decisions. Darth Baras was not simply interested in acquiring a fighter but also one capable of strategically utilizing available resources. This was important to keep in mind.

“Unless he has gone back on his word,” continued Baras, “then the twi’lek will still be in her cage. I give you the same offer. Jailer Knash is under orders to release the twi’lek to either of you.” 

“Thank you, Master,” said Glailen with a slight nod of gratitude. 

“I hope you understand what you fight for, acolyte. If you become my apprentice, the galaxy will bow before you.” It felt like a long time that Glailen stared at that impassive mask, trying to discern the designs of the man behind it. The smart thing would be to just accept the Darth’s words and be grateful for the opportunity but he couldn’t. The statement didn’t quite sit right with him as he stood straighter and cleared his throat. 

“The galaxy will bow to the Empire.” Baras’ head tilted to the side slightly as though he were examining an oddity but it lasted only a second. A wave of his hand indicated a dismissal. 

“Indeed. Go.” 

Happy to oblige, Glailen bowed low before turning and leaving the room in a hurry. Vemrin had a head start but it was marginal, easily eliminated. He could retrieve his backpack and be on his way well within the hour at which point he wouldn’t be worried with catching up. Except his mind returned to the discussion of the twi’lek and unconsciously his pace slowed. If he were being honest with himself he wasn’t fond of the idea of taking on some help. It would be dangerous out there as Glailen had already learned several times and keeping someone else alive as well as himself would be more than challenging. Taking the twi’lek would likely prove a hindrance. Although, if Baras was to be believed, the twi’lek would make entering the room with the lightsaber much easier. Then there was Baras himself whom Glailen sensed was clearly interested in seeing which, if either, of his potential apprentices could properly use the tools at their disposal. Did the benefits outweigh the risks? Glailen hoped so. 

At that moment Glailen noticed he was coming upon an overseer crouched down in front of a mess in the middle of the hallway. Scattered pieces of metal could be seen though most was concentrated where the overseer was. As he approached, Glailen could make out that the pieces had formed a droid not long ago – a protocol droid most likely. The overseer didn’t acknowledge Glailen’s presence as the acolyte drew closer on his left side. 

“No respect for the academy,” muttered the overseer in angered tones, “can’t even read the ID number.” Glialen glanced at the overseer as he spoke and then scanned the debris, coming to the same conclusion. Whoever had torn into the droid had done so in a fury that left little recognizable. 

Something caught Glailen’s eye on the other side of the hall and he walked around the overseer to reach it. As he stopped in front of it he felt his pulse quickening. Trembling fingers reached down to grab the strap of the backpack. He turned towards the overseer but his attention was captured by a single optic sensor propped up on the floor. It seemed to be staring at him. 

_It was just a droid_ , Glailen thought. 

_It was just a droid._  

That didn’t seem to matter. 

“What are you doing, acolyte?” demanded the overseer. Glailen licked his dry lips before speaking.

“This is my pack. The droid’s identification number is Y-5O3.” Opening the pack, Glailen checked its contents; it was well stocked. The overseer studied him for a time, perhaps expecting more. 

“Do you know who did this?” he asked, the suspicion evident in his voice. The acolyte hesitated a moment then met the other man’s stare. 

“No, Overseer.” A few seconds passed then Glailen turned around and walked away as casually as he could. He remained tense, waiting for the overseer to call after him, until he moved around a corner. Then he increased his pace until he was nearly running down the halls.

He moved with purpose fueled by anger. There was a fire inside that he continued to fan the more he thought about what remained of Y-5O3 – the more he imagined how the droid had been reduced to scrap. Of course he knew he shouldn’t, feeding on his emotion was one thing but this was not the time to be losing focus. The best way he could avenge Y-5O3 was by succeeding in retrieving the lightsaber and becoming Darth Baras’ new apprentice. He knew this and yet it didn’t really matter. Right now all he wanted was to get his hands on one man. 

That man came into view as Glailen entered the main hall. Vemrin was apparently on his way out of the academy when he stopped as Glailen entered the room. He turned to face the raging acolyte, sensing the hostile intent. Glailen didn’t pause when he walked into the hall. He didn’t hesitate when Vemrin looked directly at him. Filled with a resolute fury, he walked right up to Vemrin and only stopped when their feet were nearly touching. This close Glailen could make out the finer details of the other man’s facial scars but it was his eyes he focused on. Vemrin didn’t smile but his eyes held a gleam of satisfaction. He glanced casually at the pack Glailen held in a vice-like grip in his right hand. An eyebrow rose ever so slightly as he returned to regarding the seething acolyte. At his side, Glailen’s left hand kept clenching into a fist and unclenching with an eagerness to wrap around Vemrin’s neck. When Glailen spoke, the effort he was putting into restraining himself was clear.

“I was fond of that droid.” His voice was so low it might as well have been a whisper. Vemrin didn’t flinch. 

“I was fond of Dolgis.” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Glailen’s hand cut through the air in a silencing gesture, “if he got in your way you would have killed him. Just like the acolytes in the tomb.” Vemrin shook his head mockingly. 

“Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t draw blood in that place.” 

“Not as much as I was hoping,” replied Glailen as he barred his teeth. He was feeling something and he understood it well for he had felt it before. It was the same eager anticipation he had felt just before fighting Dolgis. 

“Acolytes! Is there a problem here?” Like waking from a dream, the tension between the two acolytes faded as the inquiring overseer drew closer. Still, neither man spoke or broke eye contact for some time and it almost seemed the overseer was unsure of what to think. Finally Vemrin looked aside at the overseer.

“No, Overseer, none at all.” His tone said he didn’t have a care in the world. As he turned and continued his walk to the academy entrance he radiated a sense of victory. Glailen didn’t watch him go, he was afraid of what he would do if he did. 

After a couple of moments to control his breathing, the remaining acolyte lurched into motion, ignoring the overseer completely as he made his way towards the holding cells. Everything seemed not worth noticing as Glailen walked through the halls and passed by other occupants of the academy. He was focused on his mission and focused on getting his hands on Vemrin. Perhaps the twi’lek would prove a liability but if she could get him inside the vault so he could get the lightsaber then that would be enough. There was no way Vemrin could be allowed to win this contest. So focused was Glailen that he almost didn’t notice he had reached his destination, stopping abruptly and looking around. The room and the cells in it were mostly empty save for Knash standing in front of the one occupied cell. He was holding something up to the twi’lek and speaking in low frustrated tones. Glailen opened his mouth to demand the jailer’s attention but stopped and took a deep breath. Despite his mood and the hurry he was in, he wouldn’t forget himself. When he did speak it was in a firm but respectful manner. 

“Excuse me, Jailer.” Upon realizing someone else was present, Knash whipped around in surprise but quickly relaxed, recognizing who it was.

“Ah, it’s you again. Darth Baras said I should expect you or Vemrin to stop by. I hear it’s down to the two of you for who will become Baras’ new apprentice. Not bad work if you can get it.” As the jailer spoke, Glailen studied the twi’lek. She was a blue-skinned member of her species; physically she was on the small side, certainly not intimidating, but carried herself with a strong sense of confidence or belonging. Given her current situation, that meant she was either completely ignorant of the galaxy around her or she was at peace with herself. Deciphering which was true was more interesting to the acolyte than going back to talking about how lucky he was to have the eye of Darth Baras. 

“Yes, so I’m told.” Knash cocked an eyebrow at Glailen’s noncommittal comment but quickly turned his attention to the caged twi’lek with a wave of his hand. 

“And I’m told you’re taking this twi’lek off my hands. I warn you though, she’s a pain in the neck.” There was a mix of relief and amusement in Knash’s words. In response the twi’lek in question folded her arms and glared at the jailer. 

“Pain in the neck? Only one of us is wearing a shock collar around here.” Knash jabbed a finger in the twi’lek’s direction with a grin. 

“And don’t be forgetting it – not that you could since it’s not coming off.” The twi’lek glowered but offered nothing in response as the jailer returned his attention to Glailen. He held out what Glailen presumed to be the remote for the shock collar. 

“Here, if she’s not cooperating – or if you’re bored – use this.” Glailen considered the device for a moment before taking and placing it in one of his back pockets. 

“So, wait,” the twi’lek cut in with a tone of suspicion, “where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere you’re familiar with. The tomb you were captured in.” Again that grin from Knash as he spoke. Glailen wasn’t sure if the jailer was happier to be rid of the twi’lek or that she was going somewhere dangerous. The twi’lek ignored the jailer’s amusement as she looked first at Glailen, then at Knash and then back to Glailen.

“None of you can figure out how to get in the secret places, can you? There’s some important business you have in there, huh?” 

“Yes,” answered Glailen, “and I would appreciate your assistance.” Knash directed an exasperated look at the acolyte. 

“Don’t bother being pleasant, she’s got no love for any of us.” 

“Should I?” asked the twi’lek in an almost sweet tone.

“I suppose not but you would do well to remember what happens when you’re difficult.” To emphasize his words, Knash tapped the side of his neck where, on the twi’lek, the shock collar would be. She glanced briefly at Glailen as she shifted her feet. For the first time Glailen felt a spark of fear from her. It took him a moment to understand why. No matter how difficult Knash had been to her, some grumpy jailer couldn’t compare to a Sith in cruelty – at least that was the narrative of the Empire and galaxy at large. _In most cases she would be right_ , Glailen admitted.

“Least I get to stretch my legs, I guess,” said the twi’lek more to herself than anyone else. Apparently satisfied, Knash pulled out his holopad and punched in a couple of commands. The cage door swung open and, with the briefest hesitation, the twi’lek dashed through as though the door would close any second. She looked back at what had been her prison for Glailen didn’t know how long but then turned a hard stare on the acolyte. The fear Glailen had sensed earlier was gone, replaced by determination. 

“Just so we’re clear, I’m officially on strike when it comes to domestic duties.” Glailen appraised the twi’lek anew. She showed great courage to take such a tone with a Sith – or at least what she thought to be Sith – and she no doubt understood that. There was no fear in her but she was certainly anxious. 

“I assure you I won’t need a maid,” Glailen reassured her. She gave him a suspicious look, not fully trusting what he had to say, which he couldn’t really blame her for. Eventually she nodded, seeing nothing to be done but to believe him for the time being. 

“Well, guess this can’t be all bad then.” With that settled, Glailen moved things along. They had to get going soon. 

“Did you have any weapons with you?” he asked and that caught the twi’lek off guard.  
  
“Uh, yeah, couple of blasters,” she said uncertainly. Knash appeared even more surprised than she was though that didn’t really shock Glailen. 

“What, you want to arm her?” the jailer asked incredulously. 

“I’m not going somewhere safe. The better she can protect herself the less I have to watch out for her.” Knash chewed on that for a moment and Glailen was content to let him come to terms with it. He hoped he wouldn’t have to argue the point further. 

“Hrm, fair enough,” agreed the jailer however reluctantly. He left the room, apparently to get the twi’lek’s things. Glailen felt the twi’lek’s eyes on him, studying this anomaly before her, but he kept his eyes on the doorway Knash would return through. It wasn’t long before Knash came back with a pair of worn down blasters. They didn’t look like much but the twi’lek quickly took them from the jailer and began looking them over intently, searching for any detail out of place. Glailen could understand that. _When you have so little, a little is everything._ When she was done with her inspection she cast a casual look at Knash. 

“What about my commlink?” At the seemingly innocent question, Knash stuck his hands on his hips with a knowing grin. 

“Why would you need that? You’re being let out to do a job so you need to be focused on that.” Despite the unnecessary enjoyment Knash was getting out of the situation, Glailen had to side with him. There was too much Glailen didn’t know about the twi’lek and he certainly wasn’t sure he could trust her. Letting her have her commlink with which she could contact anyone would be a foolish risk. The twi’lek wasn’t amused however as she openly glared at Knash. That only brought a laugh from the jailer as he looked at Glailen. 

“Hmph, good luck.” The comment was dripping with sarcasm but Glailen chose to ignore it. He had far more important things to concern himself with. 

“Thank you,” he said before focusing on the twi’lek. 

“We need to get moving, we’re on a time sensitive schedule.” Glailen watched the twi’lek as she placed her weapons at her hips. Outwardly she was calm and unhurried, the complete opposite of how Glailen felt inside. He forced himself to remain patient. With her blasters holstered, the twi’lek waved a hand at the acolyte. 

“Lead the way, boss.”  Lead he did as Glailen turned and left the room without another word or glance back. As he proceeded through the halls he kept his mind focused on what lay ahead. Now was not the time for distraction or hesitation.

 

* * *

 

It would be a blatant lie if Vette were to say she wasn’t just a little bit unnerved as she walked through the Sith Academy. What bothered her wasn’t the spooky lights or feeling of impending pain, it was the eyes of everyone around her and the thoughts that may have been behind those eyes. Those eyes, more often than not, fell under two categories; complete loathing disgust or the same indifference one might have when ignoring a beggar on a street corner. And what were those people thinking? That she was worthless or stupid or any number of other things and all because she wasn’t human…or Sith. Of course, with her ragged clothes, the shock collar and consideration to the planet she was on; that all was to be expected. It wasn’t right but only a fool would be surprised by it and she’d been on enough Imperial worlds to know what to expect. What made things worse though, as she looked at the back of the baby-Sith she was now somehow helping, was that it looked like she was indeed subservient to the Sith as she trailed in the wake of one. 

It wasn’t her intention to wander behind him, he was just walking too fast. His legs were longer but it wasn’t even that – he was clearly a man with a goal in mind and that goal left little room for any other thought in his head. Short of breaking into a run, she couldn’t shorten the distance between them. It would be another lie – but one Vette was less interested in making – if she were to say she wasn’t more than a little irritated. Her jaws clenched together as Vette’s eyes remained trained on the baby-Sith. _Too absorbed in his own world – disinclined to acknowledge little ol’ me just because I have lekku instead of prickly_ hair _on my head._ But she had to follow him, like a powerwrench she had been let out of her case and handed out to someone so they could do a job. _And if I don’t? Well, he can use that remote in his pocket to activate this damned shock collar_. In the cage Vette had been daring enough to tempt Yash into shocking her occasionally but a Sith – even a baby-Sith – was another matter entirely. After all, Sith were by nature not pleasant. The opposite of pleasant, in fact. 

_But they bleed like anyone else._

No sooner had the thought popped into Vette’s mind than did a plan formulate itself before her eyes. When they were far enough from the academy, alone, she could plant a couple of blaster bolts in the guy’s back since he was too distracted to pay her any mind. Then she could get the remote to remove the collar and then bide her time until she found a way off-world. It would be risky, absolutely, but there was no way she was going to be locked up again and forced to wait to either be executed or sold into slavery. She had to risk it. 

Then he looked back at her. He didn’t turn his head all the way but one eye found her and that was enough to get her attention. Vette swallowed hard without meaning to as she stared back. Had she screwed up already just by thinking about maybe possibly shooting him in the back? It was possible, she conceded. There wasn’t much she knew about the Force but from what she understood it made things completely unfair for normal people like her, strictly speaking. He seemed to keep staring forever and Vette soon found she just wished he would do something; yell at her, use the shock collar, something freaky with the Force. _What do you want, freak!_

“My name is Glailen, by the way.” Vette blinked as her mind processed the statement. That had not been on the list. 

“Vette,” she replied only somewhat hesitantly. He simply nodded and looked away. His pace also slowed to the point where Vette was no longer struggling to keep up. She was practically walking beside him now. Feeling awkward and not entirely sure why, Vette decided to see how talkative the baby-Sith – Glailen – could be. 

“So, what are we after anyway?” 

“A lightsaber,” he responded curtly but which only left Vette confused. 

“Can’t you guys make those?” 

“This is part of my trials to prove I am worthy of being Sith. I have to get the lightsaber before another acolyte or I fail and am as good as dead.” Vette stared at the man but, even though she was pretty sure he could see her looking, he didn’t turn his head towards her. _Well, that clears things up, I guess._  

“Delightful.” Glailen said nothing to Vette’s sarcastic comment which kind of disappointed her but also came as a relief. So far the general response from everybody else on the planet was to threaten to shock her. To find someone who didn’t have an itchy trigger finger was encouraging. _Then again_ , thought Vette, _it could be he’s too focused on this trial of his to care. He makes intense look apathetic._

No longer interested in talking, Vette decided to follow Glailen’s lead and keep her eyes straight. It helped her ignore all the uncomfortable things around her but she doubted that was why Glailen did it. Before long they exited the academy and were staring out at the dangerous yet oddly beautiful Korriban landscape. Glailen paused before descending the stairs. 

“Do you know which way to go?” It took a moment for Vette to realize the question was directed at her. 

“You don’t even know where the tomb is?” she asked in return, unable to hide her surprise. Glailen glanced at her briefly before looking away. 

“I’m still new to Korriban; haven’t really had time to learn even the general area.” Vette considered the explanation. _A baby-Sith indeed but it sounds like they expect you to learn how to walk on your own and real quick around here._  

“If you don’t know,” continued Glailen when Vette was silent for too long, “I’ll just ask one of the garrison members.” He was just about to take a step forward when fear gripped Vette, prompting her to jump in front of the acolyte. There was an instant where he visibly tensed and Vette braced for…something but the tension was gone as quick as it had come. Hiding her nervousness with an extravagant wave of her hand, Vette pointed towards where she knew the tomb to be.

“No need, I’ve got a pretty good idea of where to go from here.” There was a chance, as Vette saw it, that if Glailen started thinking her less useful he would become less pleasant to be around. _But is he actually pleasant though?_ Vette gave it a moment’s thought before compromising. _He’s certainly been better than anyone else on this rock._  

“It’s smart to keep track of where you’re going, you know? So when I got nabbed I kept my eyes open,” said Vette absentmindedly as she took the lead.

“That is smart thinking, you’re correct.” At the comment, Vette gave a quick glance back. Was that a compliment or an allowance of competence? Vette decided Glailen would get half marks for that one. 

They walked on for hours, soon losing sight of the academy and being left with the red scenery of Korriban. Before long Vette almost missed the academy, even with the speciesist surroundings. The people may not have been her first choice but being separated from some form of civilization had a way of souring Vette’s mood. It wasn’t anything major, she just didn’t like being alone – or feeling alone – and walking for a while without seeing another living creature had a lonely feel to it. Sure there was the odd old dusty architecture but that only served to make Vette feel more alone. 

Of course, she wasn’t alone. A Sith followed in her footsteps silently. That was the keyword though; he was silent, never saying a word. Too easy to ignore and forget. Hardly stimulating company. At the same time it was hard for Vette to break the silence and it became harder still the longer they went without speaking. It wasn’t something she usually had trouble with – breaking a dull silence with an inappropriate comment, that is – but this time was different and she wasn’t sure why.

_Maybe it’s because I’m considering murdering him when his back is turned._  

“Is it much further?” The sudden question startled Vette, distracted as she was with her thoughts. She quickly searched for words as she willed her pulse to return to normal.

“Maybe? I don’t know exactly how far it is but I’ll know it when I see it.” Vette cautiously looked back at Glailen, hoping he didn’t think anything was off. She needn’t have worried as it turned out for the acolyte was looking away, scanning their surroundings. He pointed off to their left, towards the cliff face they were walking along. 

“Let’s stop for a bit, we’ve been walking for a couple of hours.” Looking to where Glailen was pointing, Vette spotted a small alcove that would provide enough shade for the two of them as they rested. She shrugged.

“No argument here.” With the matter settled, the pair broke off from their invisible path and went to the designated spot. 

Vette was more relieved than she expected she would be when she found herself under the shade. There was a rock large enough, though not comfortable enough, to act as a seat. She glanced over at Glailen to find him squatting down against the rocky wall and rummaging through his pack. With a shrug, Vette dropped heavily onto the improvised seat and only regretted landing a little. She sighed as she slouched forward, arms resting on her knees. The trip thus far had left her more tired than she felt she should have been. Certainly more tired than she would have been before… _before I was thrown in a tiny cell for a week_. If Vette sounded a little bitter in her mind, then that was fine. She couldn’t think of anyone who didn’t consider imprisonment a glaring inconvenience on their life. 

“Here.” Head shooting up, Vette blinked at the outstretched hand in front of her and again at the small rectangular object in it covered in a silver wrapper. She looked questioningly at Glailen though he wore something close to a bored expression. 

“It’s an energy bar. This is water.” He produced a canteen and, with some uncertainty, Vette took the offered items. It’s not that she thought Glailen was trying to poison her, she just hadn’t expected him to share so willingly. Vette hoped she did well at hiding her surprise as she stared up at the aspiring Sith.

“Go ahead and eat the bar but try not to drink more than half the water. We don’t know how long we’ll be out here so it’s best to err on the side of caution.”  
“Right. Thanks.” Glailen nodded in response before returning to his pack and pulling out an energy bar for himself. He sat silently, nibbling at the snack and Vette did her best to imitate him. It didn’t take long to finish their rations – and how could it with so little? – but they remained where there were for a few minutes longer to gather their strength. 

“Let’s get going.” Without waiting, Glailen got up and started walking. Vette stared at his back as he got further away, her right hand drifting to its blaster. She hesitated. _Come on, Vette, this is the best opportunity you’re going to get! But…I can’t kill him, not anymore, it wouldn’t be right._ Searching for options, she considered the stun function of her weapons. It would be enough to put Glailen down for some time, surely, and then she could escape. He couldn’t possibly find her out here, right?

She changed the setting on her blaster and pointed it at the retreating acolyte. Glailen gave no sign that he knew anything was amiss. Vette’s finger squeezed the trigger. Then stopped. Her arm felt heavy and she lowered it. _If I leave him and he fails to get the lightsabre then he’s dead – that’s what he said – and I don’t think I could live with that._ Grimacing, Vette put the blaster away and jumped to her feet before hurrying to catch up. _New plan, get the lightsabre and then, when he’s overcome with the relief of not dying, shoot him in the face. No, not the face, play it safe and stick with the back._ Nodding to herself, Vette overtook Glailen and resumed leading the way to the ancient tomb.

* * *

 

 

The sun continued its determined march across the sky as Glailen and his new companion did the same through the valleys of Korriban. He briefly glanced towards the glowing globe with a scowl. Vemrin was out there, somewhere ahead, and it struck Glailen as doubtful he would stop even for darkness. Was Glailen willing to do the same? Yes, certainly. Could he do the same? That would mean forcing his guide, Vette, to continue and there was no way of telling how well she would function while exhausted and sleep deprived. Still. He couldn’t allow Vemrin to get the lightsaber first. Letting out a low sigh, Glailen’s eyes tracked the twi’lek walking on ahead. He was not looking forward to that conversation. Vette had already proved herself to be nothing if not strong willed. 

Suddenly Vette became interested in something by the cliff face and she took off at a trot. Glancing over, Glailen spotted what drew her attention. She moved towards an artificial entrance into the rock, flanked by large age-worn pillars. It was, in fact, quite similar to every tomb Glailen had thus far visited on Korriban. His pulse quickened with anticipation. 

“This is it,” said Vette as she got close. Pausing at the doorway, she gazed inside and looked around before nodding to herself.

“Yeah, I’d recognize this spooky place anywhere.” Reaffirming her stance, Vette looked back as Glailen came up behind her. She looked at him expectantly but expecting what Glailen wasn’t sure. Still, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he had the same expression directed at the doorway his eyes remained fixed on. This was the place where his fate would be decided. Drawing his warblade, he advanced defiantly. 

“I’ll take point. Direct me.” 

“Sure. Go straight.” Given that the only immediate choice was to go straight, the sarcastic comment was not lost on Glailen. He opted to ignore it and remain focused on the task at hand. So long as Vette found it in her to do the same when it counted, then he was ready to ignore more such comments. 

Their trek through the tunnels of the tomb was uneventful but that didn’t prevent Glailen from remaining on edge with every step. He hadn’t forgotten the acolytes he’d found in Tulak Hord’s tomb. They had been murdered by other acolytes but Glailen was fairly certain one acolyte was responsible. He did not intend to be another victim of the tombs. Behind him, Glailen could sense Vette’s emotions. There was the tumultuous conflict that he had come to expect but that lay beneath the suspicion and unease held taut like a stretched string. She seemed to understand the danger they faced better than she let on. 

_Or she’s reliving memories of the last time she was here._  

There was no time for Glailen to feel pity for the twi’lek, he couldn’t allow his focus to waver. Vette continued to offer direction as needed and had yet to jump at shadows. Glailen was inclined to believe she would hold firm as they continued. It was at that moment that Glailen realized his footsteps, light as they are, were the only ones he could hear. Frowning, he stopped and turned around, peering back into the dark. His eyes were as adjusted as he could expect but it still took a second to make out the still shape of Vette, her head appeared turned away. Glailen paused and listened, he reached out with the Force but nothing seemed out of place. _So what is she waiting for?_

“Vet–” Suddenly two shapes leaped from the dark and rushed Vette. She cried out and raised her blasters but one of the figures swung a two-handed weapon at her, knocking her to the ground. One attacker turned to rush Glailen as the other moved in to finish their twi’lek prey.

Glailen acted without hesitation. Roaring his rage, he rushed his opponent and blocked their strike on his warblade but he didn’t slow. He plowed into the attacker and lifted them off the ground one-handed, using his momentum to carry them forward a few steps before launching them into their partner. The two tumbled to the ground and rolled away before regaining their feet. They had only made it to their knees before Glailen activated his warblade and bathed the four of them in a red glow. A warblade couldn’t generate much light – certainly not in comparison to a lightsaber – but after the suffocating darkness, the light was near blinding. For Glailen’s opponents it may as well have been for the way they shied away and tried to cover their eyes. 

Looking them over, they were as Glailen had expected. A couple of malnourished and desperate former acolytes from the academy who spent too much time in the dark. This time, however, as he looked upon the wretched things that had once been young men hoping to be Sith, Glailen found he didn’t care to kill them. 

“Leave.” They hesitated, shooting darting glances at each other. Behind him, Glailen felt Vette’s own confusion.

 “Go!” The tone of Glailen’s voice left no room for further consideration. The two pale men scrambled away and retreated into the dark. Glailen felt their fear grow further away and, eventually, was satisfied enough to turn away. He found Vette getting unsteadily to her feet and staring at him like he’d changed colour. Of course, with the glow from the warblade that might not have been far from the truth. Grunting, he deactivated his weapon. The sooner they were accustomed to the dark again, the better. After getting to her feet, Vette holstered her blasters and brushed herself off. 

“Geez…you sure scared them.” The words came out shaky and Glailen thought he understood Vette’s unease. They had no idea they were being watched until they were set upon and that was particularly disconcerting in the dark. It made sense for Vette though, because of the dark but Glailen should have been able to sense them. At least that was his line of thinking. So why hadn’t he felt anything at all in the Force until the very last instant? The only reason he could come up with was that those two had spent so long hiding from Force users that they had become experts in hiding their presence.  _But who’s to say Vemrin can’t do the same?_ The thought bothered Glailen but he didn’t push it aside. He focused on it. 

He needed to be ready. 

“Better than the alternative,” he said into the dark.

“I guess so.” A slight shift from the black shape of Vette indicated a shrug. Glailen hesitated. 

“You did well hearing them.” A pause then another shrug. 

“They slipped up. No biggy.” Grunting, Glailen resumed his walk deeper into the tomb. Vette followed a moment later.

Before long they found themselves in a large chamber. It wasn’t the first such room they’d encountered but this one was unique in that there was light readily available. Along the walls were a number of torches that had blues flames casting a strong glow throughout the chamber. There were also several statues lining those walls, standing tall enough to look down on any intruders. Glailen could also sense the dark side of the Force gathered in the room. Even before Vette spoke, Glailen knew they were in the right place. 

“Hey, this is it…let me just get my bearings.” After taking a second to look around, Vette turned and walked towards one of the walls. Glailen watched her go a moment before returning to scanning their surroundings. There were a couple of other entrances to the room that someone or something could come from but Glailen sensed nothing from them. Of course, he had already learned that didn’t mean everything. He wasn’t paralyzed, however. Before he began his Sith training he had to rely on the more common and primal senses of living creatures and he was trained to hone those senses. 

“Those torches are creepy; they were lit last time I was here.” Vette spoke as she worked but it was a distant thing that Glailen refused to acknowledge for it was a distraction. One someone stalking him would hope he would fall for. 

Glailen ducked just as the swing came. The weapon passed harmlessly over his head as he reached back and took hold of his attacker, grabbing their belt with one hand and a handful of their shirt with the other, using their forward momentum to lift them off their feet and toss them overhead. They landed heavily on their back but had the wherewithal to roll aside even as Glailen brought his warblade down. It scrapped against the stone, announcing to the large chamber that a fight was beginning. Vemrin glared over at Glailen but the animosity was mutual. It was good no one stood between them for there would have been few places more dangerous; but because no one did there was nothing stopping the acolytes from settling their feud. That was fine for them. It was time. 

The pair rose to their feet. Vemrin assumed a battle stance with Glailen following suit only after removing his pack at a deliberate pace, showing he was in no rush, and tossing it aside. As they prepared, Vette cautiously approached, looking between the two and no doubt wishing she could be in another tomb at the very least. Neither man spared her a glance as that would have been the first mistake of the fight and perhaps the last. That didn’t stop her from being noticed.

“Keep working, slave,” growled Vemrin, “I’ll want passage when I’m done here.” The comment struck a chord within Vette; that was plain by the indignation and anger that pulsed from her through the Force. Her hands twitched towards the blasters at her hips. Of course, if Glailen noticed that then so did Vemrin and he would not hesitate to remove a threat.

“It’s okay, Vette, keep working. I’ll handle the trash.” The twi’lek directed a hard look at Glailen but he could feel he had plactated her – to a degree. His tone, after all, left no room for doubt that he would do exactly as he said. Offering only a curt nod, Vette walked back to where she had been working. With no more distractions, the acolytes could begin in earnest. 

At once they rushed each other. Their warblades sliced through the air and crashed together. Neither gave ground, pushing against the other. Glailen leaned into his strike, knowing he had more weight and strength to put behind it. Vemrin fought back stubbornly but, while the anger never left his eyes, he showed no sign of concern for a losing struggle. Glailen had a second to wonder at that before Vemrin suddenly stepped aside and Glailen’s momentum sent him stumbling forward. He turned just in time to deflect the attack that came from behind but his defenses were not ready for the Force push that sent him flying across the chamber. The landing was painful but Glailen wasted no time in getting up, though he only managed a crouching position before Vemrin was on him. The acolyte swung down with his blade but Glailen was able to block the strike. He couldn’t stop the knee that rammed into his face, however, and flung him onto his back. Immediately he rolled aside; Vemrin’s warblade carved a line where Glailen had lain a second earlier. 

When he was sure he had gained enough distance, Glailen leapt to his feet and adopted a guard. Vemrin hadn’t pressed his advantage. He merely stared at him, unperturbed but for the hate in his eyes. Slowly he began to advance but he did so without concern. The sight would have irritated Glailen a great deal more if he could get his heart so cease its pounding. 

“That lightsaber is mine by right.” The words heralded Vemrin’s renewed assault as he quickly closed the gap between the two acolytes. Glailen met his warblade strike for strike but something quickly became apparent. Vemrin was not foolish or arrogant enough to attempt to overpower the larger Glailen and instead relied on superior swordsmanship. It had already occurred to Glailen that his opponent was the better with a blade but he hadn’t expected the difference between them to become so pronounced. Vemrin seemed to redirect Glailen’s blade with ease and then slip inside his defenses. The aggressiveness forced Glailen to quickly give ground in the fight until, suddenly, he found his back quite literally against the wall. Instantly he lashed out, trying to take the initiative but again Vemrin blocked the strike with ease. His left arm snapped toward Glailen and he delivered a backhand blow to Glailen’s ear, disorienting the acolyte.

Panic threatened to take Glailen as he sought to disengage, sliding along the wall until he could push away from it and put a good deal of open space behind him. Once more Vemrin did not push his attack. He was toying with Glailen and the acolyte knew it. For some time Vemrin had no doubt been anticipating this fight and now that it was here he seemed interested in making the most of the experience. Since they both had to wait on Vette before continuing anyway, why not draw out the fight? Glailen could provide an answer to that but he was keen on using his actions over words. Steadying his breathing, Glailen waited for his opponent to come. Shockingly, the hate in Vemrin’s eyes grew in intensity at the sight. How dare this impudent acolyte remain calm when Vemrin could have ended his life already?

He advanced, seething. 

“My passions run deeper than yours ever will – I deserve to be Sith!”

Glailen moved to meet his opponent with a greater appreciation for where they stood against each other. Just because he didn’t have the same skill as Vemrin, however, that didn’t mean he couldn’t win. He made to prove that as he met Vemrin head-on, swinging hard again and again not to kill but to knock away the other man’s warblade. Where Vemrin had deflected strikes to find an opening, Glailen was forcing his way through even given the risk. The aggressive pressure paid off as Vemrin was taken aback by the sudden turn the fight was taking. He was struggling to keep his weapon between him and the advancing threat when Glailen rushed forward and swung his elbow into Vemrin’s face, knocking him to the ground with his head bouncing off the stone floor. Glailen’s momentum took him forward a few steps before he stopped and turned to face the other man. He had to give credit where it was due; Vemrin was already back on his feet with his guard up though he was clearly fighting to regain his composure.

“We both know that’s not how it works,” said Glailen as he tensed for another attack.

“If you want that lightsaber and if you want to be Sith well, then, you’re going to have to kill me.” The look Vemrin sent Glailen showed that he intended to do just that and with great pleasure. A grin even crept across his lips. 

“Gladly!” he roared. The pair charged each other.

Their blades clashed together in a flash of furry. Movement became based more on instinct than on visual reaction. Glailen took the initiative, pushing Vemrin back with a flurry of powerful swings. Vemrin, still disoriented from knocking his head on the ground, put up a desperate defense but only initially. As the fight continued, Vemrin became stronger, his movements less sloppy and more certain. Despite his bravado, Glailen could barely keep up with Vemrin who seemed to have an endless supply of energy. His actions and reactions never slowed or lost their precise edge. He was simply outclassing his opponent. Glailen, however, had come too far to lose now and he was far too stubborn in a fight to do anything less than claw and scrape away at his enemy until his dying breath. Even still, he was slowing and Vemrin was steadily pushing him back. It was only a matter of time before the scales definitively tilted.

Pain erupted in Glailen’s side. He grit his teeth and refused to sacrifice a hand in covering the wound. He didn’t know how it happened but he didn’t have time to think it over, Vemrin was no longer taking things easy. The fight was firmly in his favour and Vemrin knew it as he bore down on Glailen, finding it in him to increase the ferocity of his strikes. Exhaustion threatened to overtake Glailen and his opponent could see it. Vemrin stepped in close, using his warblade to shove Glailen’s away before delivering a backhand fist into Glailen’s face. He stumbled back, dazed, but Vemrin allowed no time to recover as he swung low with his blade. Pain lanced through Glailen’s thigh and he cried out from the growing agony. Vemrin let out a triumphant laugh. Sweat dripped from Glailen’s brow as he watched the other acolyte draw close. He could smell blood and he wasn’t in the mind to hesitate. If something didn’t change soon then Glailen was about to die.

 

* * *

 

The scream drew Vette’s attention. She had avoided watching the fight, keeping busy with opening the door, but now that she was looking she couldn’t turn away. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of Glailen being pushed back seemingly effortlessly. Wounded and clearly too tired to continue, he was on his last legs in the fight. It didn’t help that one of his legs had taken a hit from the other guy’s blade, too. Vette’s thoughts raced. What should she do? Should she do anything? That seemed a stupid question even as she thought it. She didn’t know Glailen all that well but she was fairly certain things would be better if he survived this fight. _Either way I’m stuck with a Sith though – what did I do to deserve this anyway?_  

Even as Vette considered her options, the two warriors slammed their blades together again but this time it was a feint as Glailen’s opponent kicked the injured leg. Vette winced as Glailen screamed from the pain and dropped to a knee. He wasn’t giving up though, as he blocked the follow-up swing. That turned out to be only a temporary form of resistance as the other man did a few quick movements with his blade before Glailen’s weapon was flung from his hands. Vette couldn’t follow how it happened but it wasn’t important as she watched Glailen fall to his hands. What was important was the fight was over and it hadn’t gone well for Glailen.

The look of pure sadistic satisfaction the recent victor directed at Glailen caused Vette to shiver. She knew then that she had to do something to help. The man, standing over Glailen, raised his warblade high to bring it down on his neck. Vette’s hand shot to the blaster at her hip – froze. She gaped, watching as Glailen suddenly exploded into motion; tackling the other man and catching him completely off guard. Glailen lifted him off his feet before redirecting the force and driving him down to the floor. The thud seemed impossibly loud but the man kept his grip on his weapon which he began to raise. Glailen was wise to the move and used his left hand to grab the other man’s wrist while simultaneously dropping his right elbow into the man’s face. Still he didn’t release the warblade but now he was weak and Glailen knew it, driving the wrist he clutched down to the floor. The man growled with frustration and defiance but that was soon replaced with pain as Glailen smashed the man’s hand into the floor again and again until finally the hold was broken. The warblade rolled aside as desperation gripped the man, lashing out with his free hand and jabbing a thumb into Glailen’s eye. He howled and immediately pulled away the hand while balling up his left hand and driving it into the man’s face. Another fist landed and then another and they just kept flying even as the man struggled feebly with ebbing strength against Glailen’s larger bulk. It couldn’t have been more than a dozen punches but they were heavy and relentless; Vette almost felt sorry for the other man. Soon he stopped struggling entirely and the punches stopped coming. 

Glailen heaved for air as he crawled away from his opponent before reaching out with a hand for his warblade. It was a couple of meters away but started sliding closer until he could grab the handle. To Vette’s eyes he looked like he was too tired to stand but, using the weapon as a crutch, Glailen slowly got to his feet. At the same time – impossibly – the man rose up. Vette hissed at the sight of his bludgeoned face. He hadn’t been particularly handsome before but now it was difficult to look at him – even if Vette found she couldn’t look away. Weakly he reached for his discarded warblade and Vette wondered if the fight was really going to continue. Glailen was wise to the move and had already moved close enough to kick at the outstretched hand while at the same time waving at the warblade, which was apparently enough to send it rolling further away. The man tried making a sound but instead spat out a stream of blood and saliva. Sitting back on his haunches, he looked down at his empty hands.

“Is this…have I come so far just to fail?”

Glailen roared as he swung his weapon with all his might. The warblade smacked into the side of the other man’s head. A sickening crack echoed through the chamber. What remained of the acolyte fell to his side with the force of the blow. Vette swallowed hard and kept her eyes from the fresh corpse. She instead watched Glailen as his body visibly shook. He heaved for air and struggled to calm himself after finally winning through; coming out of the fight with not only his life but all his appendages. Vette knew what that was like. 

After a few moments he straightened, briefly glancing at the gore on his warblade before settling his eyes on the remains of the other acolyte. Not wanting to follow his gaze, Vette looked away and returned to the stones she was arranging in precisely the right order. She blinked, finding that she was almost done but hadn’t even noticed with all the excitement going on. Picking up the final stone, she placed it in an indent along the wall and turned it three quarters of a full rotation. Suddenly the room began to shake as the stone wall that was actually a door slid all the way up to the roof. The rumbling and shaking ended abruptly. 

Vette took a deep breath before spinning around and waving an arm out to display her achievement. 

“You’re welcome,” she pronounced into the silence. Her audience of one – or two if the cooling body was to be counted – gave no immediate response. In fact for a moment Vette wondered if Glailen had even registered her words as he was stilling looking at his own handy work. Finally his gaze, cold eyes that could only be attributed to a killer, swung to her and her breath caught in her throat. Vette wondered if she had pushed her luck too far with the last comment. She suddenly became very much aware her hand was hovering over the grip of her blaster. Then Glailen blinked and exhaled; his demeanour changing to the impassive baby-Sith Vette was becoming accustomed to.

“Thank you, Vette. You have been most helpful.” The statement took Vette by surprise. She hadn’t actually expected any gratitude for her part in this adventure but it sounded…genuine. 

“Wow. It’s nice to be appreciated. Thanks.” Glailen offered a slight nod before turning and venturing over to where his pack lay. After rummaging through it, he pulled out a couple of kolto patches and began applying them to his wounds. The cuts weren’t particularly deep but they certainly weren’t shallow either. How Glailen was apparently able to ignore the pain, Vette couldn’t begin to understand. When he was satisfied, Glailen looked towards the secret passage and beckoned Vette to lead on. She did so as casually as she could manage. It was a short walk before they came to a point where the passage branched off in two directions. 

“That way leads to a big room with old books and artifacts,” Vette said as she pointed to the left, then pointed to the right, “and down there is another big room with a lot of statues facing a – I don’t know, stone sarcophagus I guess. It’s at the top of a raised dais.” Glailen didn’t hesitate before starting down the right path. 

“It will be there. With the sarcophagus.”

Vette hesitated a moment. She was running out of opportunities to make her escape. It was just that there hadn’t been a moment that felt right for shooting Glailen in the back. With a stun, of course. But then again, maybe there wouldn’t actually be a moment that felt _right_. Maybe she just had to go for it. 

It was easier telling herself to stop being scared and get on with it before she had seen the killer in Glailen’s eyes. Now…the consequences of failing looked a great deal more real than they had before. Sighing, Vette hurried to catch up. She stopped short when they reached the chamber. Glailen kept going, unperturbed, but Vette had to wait and look around. 

The last time she was here she hadn’t actually entered the room but rather stopped at the door, as she was now, and looked inside before retreating. Anyone who could stand the ominous doom that dripped from the walls and coated the statues was either a crazy fool or – _or a Sith_. _That explains why Glailen is walking in without a care in the world. So what does that make me?_ Ignoring the question, Vette shuffled her way into the room, eyeing the statues with suspicion. They didn’t have a lot of detail but she could tell they were meant to have their heads bowed in worship or submission. Maybe both. A Sith would probably prefer both. Except maybe Glailen. But as Glailen ascended the stairs to the sarcophagus, Vette remembered that look again and wondered if maybe she was being fooled and crazy enough to think even a baby-Sith could be decent – exactly something that would happen to a crazy fool.

 

* * *

 

 

Glailen reached out to brush his fingers along the inscriptions on the stone lid. As he had walked the passage leading to this chamber, he had been filled with doubts. Defeating Vemrin had taken everything he had and in the end he hadn’t been the better swordsman. Instead he won with as much luck as anything when he caught the other acolyte off-guard and simply overpowered and brutalized him. In any other setting he would have said it was a legitimate victory but here, where everything was a test to find the best new Sith, had he stolen his place in the Order? Was it possible Vemrin had been the more deserving?

Whether that was the case or not, Glailen was the one to go forward. _I’ll just have to prove worthy of a lightsaber and the title of Sith_. As he had climbed the steps leading to the sarcophagus, Glailen made a promise to himself that he would work tirelessly to be the worth of not one but two Sith. The Order and the Empire deserved nothing less. 

All doubt fled Glailen’s mind when he stood before the sarcophagus. The entire chamber was oozing with the Dark Side but its center was right in front of him. It was intoxicating. He allowed it to wash over and through him. It was comforting and reassuring, giving him the strength and confidence to accept his actions. He gently pushed against the lid but it didn’t budge. Far too heavy. Pulling back, Glailen channeled the dark side and thrust his hand forward. The lid slid off the top and landed beside the sarcophagus with a heavy thud, though it did not break. 

Gazing inside, Glailen was greeted with the skeletal remains of an ancient Sith Lord – Naga Sadow. Glailen briefly wondered if his ultimate fate was to be treasure for aspiring Sith in the far future to fight over but he quickly stopped thinking of anything as his eyes settled on the lightsaber clasped in Sadow’s hands. Pulse quickening with anticipation, Glailen used the Force to slide the lightsaber free of its age-old resting place and float into Glailen’s waiting hand. Almost immediately Glailen ignited the weapon, so excited was he. The crimson beam shot forth and a rhythmic humming played at Glailen’s ears. He tested the weight which was near enough to nothing in his hand. Of course the blade itself had no weight which meant there was nothing he could throw momentum and power behind to create a powerful attack like with a warblade. That was fine. A lightsaber more than made up for that with its sheer lethality and utility. He would just have to train his muscles to compensate in the future. 

As for the lightsaber itself, it was indeed ancient. Worn and several parts in need of repair or replacement that even an untrained eye could see. Still, it was Glailen’s lightsaber. It was his and he would make it work. There would be time for making improvements but for now he allowed himself some time to appreciate that his hard work had yielded reward. Turning over the weapon in his hands, becoming mesmerized by its power, Glailen felt whatever the future held it wouldn’t be enough to stop him. 

Glailen turned, looking down, to find Vette staring at him with her hands resting on her blasters. Her mouth worked, searching for the right words. She paused to lick her lips. 

“Not bad. Very Sithy.” Glailen considered the compliment before nodding. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped short as a tremor went through the Force. Turning back to the sarcophagus and the skeleton within, Glailen found a burst of dark side energy erupt from the remains of Naga Sadow. So dense was the display of the dark side that even Vette would be able to see it. The two watched, uncertain, but knowing deep down that nothing good could possibly happen. The energy swirled around the chamber before being absorbed by the statues lining the floor. Silence settled in the room as neither occupant moved for several moments. Glailen attempted to speak but again was forced to silence as a cracking sound broke out. It wasn’t just from one source though, every statue between the dais and the doorway was suddenly breaking apart. Or so it seemed at first but then Glailen realized they were only losing an outer layer, like shedding skin, and revealing that underneath they were not stone at all. Some kind of humanoid creatures had lain dormant but even now, as they were animated, Glailen sensed no life from them. Certainly not life as he understood it through the Force. He could only assume they were little different from droids but the fact he felt the dark side in them indicated they were likely created with Sith sorcery. Guardians of Naga Sadow’s final resting place.

Each of the guardians brandished a sword which they carried or dragged with them as they lumbered forward. Their movements were awkward jerking motions. Whether that was a side effect of remaining encased in stone for so long or simply how they moved, it mattered little to Glailen as he gauged their threat. Vette was doing observing of her own though much closer as she had not followed Glailen up the steps. Her blasters were drawn and though she did not open fire, she also kept the weapons raised and aimed at the advancing creatures. Tension grew as the guardians shambled closer when suddenly one of them shot forward with unexpected speed. Vette did not hesitate, putting a bolt in the center of its forehead. The floodgates opened then as the guardians all surged forward as the fallen one had. Letting out a cry, Vette began spraying with her blasters for all she was worth, desperately trying to keep the numerous threats back. Several went down but those that remained standing cared nothing for the well-being of those around them or even themselves.

Glailen didn’t wait to see how the fight would turn out. He wanted badly to be a part of it. After all his frustrations and doubts, even wounded and tired as he was, he very much looked forward to testing his new lightsaber on these things. Powered by the Force, he leapt from the top of the dais and landed a few feet beside Vette, cleaving a guardian in half from shoulder to waist effortlessly. Vette jumped at his sudden appearance but quickly refocused on staying alive. Gripping his lightsaber with both hands, Glailen rushed to meet Naga Sadow’s parting gift. He drove into the crowd, swinging for limbs where exposed and decapitating heads when possible. The blades the guardians carried, though primarily metal, Glailen quickly discovered had energy channeled along the edge allowing them to block the concentrated energy of a lightsaber and cut with less effort. Glailen didn’t dwell on the discovery, it would have been too much to expect Naga Sadow to make such an oversight. He had also found a weakness easily exploited in the guardians. Though they had shown they could move quite fast when they wanted, they seemed incapable of redirecting themselves with the same speed, making them easy to side-step and confuse. 

Glailen moved without thought, allowing his instincts to take over and reveling in the destruction he wrought. With the lightsaber he felt invincible as he thrummed with power, striking as a blur of crimson, undeniable. These guardians were not the challenge Glailen had feared at first. For him, at least, they were little more than a nuisance or distraction. Perhaps that was all Naga Sadow had meant for them to be. Maybe the Sith Lord had a sense of humour. Glailen didn’t spend much time pondering the possibility as he was far more amused with spreading carnage around him. As fast as he cut down the creatures, more appeared to stand in his way but Glailen welcomed it. He felt his earlier exhaustion washing away and indeed he only wanted more each time he drove his weapon through one of the guardians. Occasionally he glanced over to Vette to see how she was doing but after she took the high ground, climbing several steps towards the dais for a better vantage point, he stopped looking. She would be fine so all he had to do was clear out the chamber. A job he set to with enthusiasm. A job that was over far too soon for his liking. 

Between the two of them, the fight was brought to a close before long. Corpses littered the chamber floor; some riddled with blaster bolts, more with saber burns.  Glailen looked around eagerly for any guardians that had been missed or late in joining the fight but found none. With effort he regulated his breathing and let go of the elation he had felt in the fight. Vette approached him, stepping lightly around the litter on the floor, and eyeing him as though he had grown extra arms in the past few minutes. 

“I’m glad one of us enjoyed that,” she said by way of breaking the silence. Sheepishly, Glailen deactivated his lightsaber and hooked it to his belt. The weight, familiar from when Tremel’s held the same spot, was comforting. 

“We’ve done what we came for-” 

“And then some,” cut in Vette. 

“Now it’s time to head back.” After Glailen’s pronouncement he could sense indecision from Vette that she tried to cover-up by openly looking around the room. It lasted only a moment and Glailen decided to disregard it. 

“Yeah,” Vette agreed, “okay. Not going to lie, I won’t be sad if I never come back here again.” After a second’s thought, Glailen nodded in agreement.

* * *

 

 

When Vette had said she was glad to leave the scary tomb behind, she had meant it, but she left out the part where she was less than enthusiastic about returning to the Sith Academy. Although, with Sith being who and what they were and her being who and what she was, she figured that should have been self-evident. Whether it was or wasn’t, she still found herself ascending the steps to the Academy entrance. If she wondered if she would ever walk back out, well, she thought that was justified as well. _You wouldn’t be in this situation, dummy, if you’d just gone through with the plan._  

The self-recrimination stung but Vette was getting used to it as it had become common in her head since they left the tomb. That was when she realized she wouldn’t be going through with shooting Glailen in the back. She had tried, of course, tried to find the right moment but when it came, when he was standing on that dais admiring his new toy, he had turned and looked right at her with such utter self-assurance, stopping her just before she drew her blasters. In that moment she half expected him to use some nasty Force ability to kill her because he could read her thoughts. He hadn’t though, it was just a coincidence that he looked at that second. That was what Vette told herself anyway. Then things got crazy for a bit and when it was all over Vette was less enthusiastic to go through with things. She had seen the killer in Glailen’s eyes after he killed the other baby-Sith but she had seen it truly unleashed in the fight against those guardians. How easily, she wondered, would it be turned against her? So far Glailen had been nothing but fair to her but trying to shoot him would probably change that very quickly.

_Now I’m heading back to a cage. At best I’ll be sold into slavery far from the Empire. At worst I’ll be dead before long. Not the kind of options a girl likes to be left with but I guess this is what I get for having cold feet. Still, if I don’t get stuck with the latter option but rather land somewhere between the former and being dead then I’ll always have a chance of escaping. Just going to take some time._ Vette did what she could to keep her spirits up as she stepped across the threshold of the Sith Academy.

There was an art to following Glailen through the throngs of Sith and Sith hopefuls. She didn’t walk so close as to be cowering in his shadow but close enough that anyone watching would assume she’s the servant of Glailen and therefore not bother her, which was true but that didn’t mean it wasn’t degrading. Glailen led them up to the second level and Vette’s heart quickened with fear. She had never been anywhere other than the first level and didn’t like the idea of being somewhere new while surrounded by Sith. Of course, she couldn’t refuse – not without consequences. Her baby-Sith companion walked through the halls with confidence. He at least seemed to know where he was going. Vette tried to keep track of the path they were taking without looking in any one spot for more than a second. There was no telling what a bunch of self-important, speciest Sith would take as offense and there were plenty around.

Before long they stopped in front of a pair of large sliding doors. Glailen spoke to a droid over an intercom and they were allowed entrance into a waiting room. The protocol droid was standing watch inside, ready to welcome guests, Vette presumed, as it was certainly not intimidating enough to stop anyone from getting to the next set of doors behind it. The droid addressed Glailen when the first doors slid shut, locking the trio in the room.

“Greetings, Acolyte Glailen. Please wait a moment while I inform Darth Baras of your arrival.” 

“That’s fine,” Glailen responded but the droid was already shuffling over to a control panel next to the second set of doors. 

“I think you should wait here,” said Glailen as he faced Vette, “Darth Baras can be…intimidating.” 

Suppressing a shudder, Vette gave a nonchalant look around the room before finding somewhere to sit. She dropped heavily onto the couch she supposed was a rare display of Sith hospitality, adding a wave of her hand towards the door. “Yeah, sure, go on; try not to be too long though. Not even a puzzle game around here to keep me occupied.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The droid was beckoning Glailen over and as he approached the doors slid open smoothly. Vette couldn’t help leaning forward a bit to look inside the room, trying to catch a glimpse of the Sith who had decided she was a tool to be used in the stupid baby-Sith tests. For a second she saw him – or who she assumed was the Sith since he was the only one in the room – and immediately regretted it. A sensation of wrongness came over her and she was nearly overcome with fear as she quickly pulled back, out of sight. She determined she made the correct decision in agreeing to wait outside. Then the doors closed and she was left with nothing but her own thoughts. 

Plagued by curiosity and worry, Vette found it difficult to keep from fidgeting. How could she stop thinking though? On the other side of those doors was a big bad Sith who was probably going to decide her fate in some way. Back to the cage or maybe she was no longer useful and she was moments away from being killed? Perhaps, as Vette looked towards the first set of doors, this was her chance to escape. It would be risky – an understatement, of course – walking through the building by herself but not impossible. All she had to do was act like she belonged and everyone around her would either believe it as well or ignore her entirely. There was a big problem with the plan though, and it was standing in front of the office doors. Vette look at the droid out of the corner of her eye and tried to judge her chances of walking away without it taking notice. It stood completely still and silent, the only indicator that it was online at all was the glowing red of its single optic sensor. It probably knew she was supposed to wait and it was no doubt fully aware of everything in the room. She was trapped. Just another cage, if a little more spacious.

_You can get through this, Vette, you’ve been through worse. I mean, that’s not true but once you get out of this mess everything else will look easy by comparison. So, that’s something to look forward to._ Squeezing her eyes shut and clasping her hands together, Vette tried to keep her cool. The more she thought about her situation, however, the harder it was to keep from feeling overwhelmed. She screwed up in the tomb with not stunning Glailen when she had the chance but it wouldn’t happen again. All she needed was one more opportunity and she swore to herself she would make the most of it. 

The doors to the office slid open, snapping Vette out of her thoughts. She couldn’t help but bounce to her feet as she saw Glailen walking out. He barely had both feet in the waiting room before the doors shut behind him. Glailen was fiddling with something at his wrist, which Vette realized was a data-watch. It looked like a cute mini holopad. She’d always wanted one but that could wait.

“So how’d it go?” asked Vette, trying to keep the anticipation from her voice. It was anticipation and definitely not worry and that didn’t change as she took in Glailen’s far-off look. He blinked as he focused on her but it was a moment still before he spoke.

“He made me his apprentice.” Vette gave a tilt of her head in confusion. That had been the goal all along so why would Glailen be bothered? 

“Of course, right? That was the whole point of that test and stuff.” 

“He gave you to me as a gift.” 

“Oh.” The statement caught Vette off-guard. Her mind raced for something more to say but none of it seemed right. Glailen didn’t appear much better; looking away as his eyes shifted back and forth, searching for words. 

“I tried putting in a good word for you – said you were an indispensable asset – and he gave you to me.” 

“Oh.” Again Vette could decide on nothing else to say. Glailen offered nothing more immediately as an awkward silence settled around them. The longer they stood in silence the more Vette wished she could simply walk away without saying anything more but that wasn’t how things worked. Finally Glailen met her eyes again, steady with resolve. 

“We need to get moving.” Again Glailen looked away but this time took off at a brisk pace. Vette didn’t mind that he was doing his fast walk again. She was glad to be doing something instead of standing around repeating the same sentence: _he owns me_. She glanced at his back as she worked to keep up. Glailen had already proven to be a decent enough person and there were certainly worse people to be owned by. It was weird though, after everything they’d been through in a short time, to think Glailen – in the Empire’s eyes – legally owned her. Oh how she hated thinking about it though. Being owned by someone was not something she relished. Sure, she knew there was a strong chance this would be what came next but that didn’t mean she had to like it. 

“Lord Baras wants me to meet him at the Sith Temple on Dromund Kaas.” Glailen spoke without slowing or looking back as he was prone to do when he had it in his mind there was somewhere he needed to be. 

“He’s arranged transport at the Vaiken Space Dock. We need to catch a shuttle soon if we don’t want to miss the departure, which we don’t because that will make us late for the meeting with Baras and that won’t be a good start to my apprenticeship.” 

“Sounds reasonable,” responded Vette, “but don’t we have time to grab our things?”

“I have nothing to grab.” It was a simple and straight forward answer but it still took Vette a moment to accept that Glailen really didn’t have any belongings, other than what he had with him already. _Aren’t I supposed to be the slave here?_ Ignoring the question, she pressed further. 

“Okay but what about me?” Glailen did not respond right away and he kept walking as though he hadn’t heard anything. Vette almost repeated herself, then he turned his head to look at her out of the corner of one eye. 

“They’re not your things anymore, Vette, they belong to the Empire.” It was a harsh statement from a serious face but Vette caught the undertone of sympathy. She didn’t want sympathy though, she wanted her things back. They weren’t much but they were hers.

“I’m supposed to just accept that?” she asked, unable to keep the edge from her voice. Glailen kept his eye on her for a few seconds longer before looking forward again. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. It sounded genuine but again it wasn’t what Vette was looking for. They continued their trek through the academy but there was tension between them now. Then Glailen spoke again. 

“We’ll look into it when we get to Kaas City.” Vette stared openly at Glailen though it meant she was only looking at the back of his head. He was offering to try getting her things back? No, that was stupid, there was no way she would get her stuff once they were on Dromund Kaas. Was he suggesting they buy her new things? That seemed more likely. When was the last time someone offered to buy her anything? 

She was still upset but reluctantly dropped the topic. As much as she wanted to speak out she could no longer direct her frustrations at Glailen. It wasn’t his fault that she was in this position – not really – and it certainly wasn’t his idea that she lose her belongings. The situation was what it was, however, and they would achieve nothing by arguing. Vette shut her mouth though she struggled with a sour taste. 

They had already left the academy behind and were following a decently kept path. A sign they passed indicated a landing pad would be found at the end to which Vette could only shake her head. Why did the landing spot have to be so far away from the academy? Probably a Sith thing about sacred stuff. Whatever the reason, Vette was doing more walking than she had bargained for. It almost made her miss sitting around in her old cell. Almost. Not really, though. She still didn’t like walking so much. 

After nearly an hour they came upon a small, metallic bridge and across it Vette could see a shuttle sitting at the top of a low hill. She breathed a sigh of relief seeing she would soon be able to rest her feet. The sight distracted her for only a second but it was enough time for her to take another step and bump into Glailen. With him being a rather large man and her somewhat on the small side, the impact was disorienting. Vette was about to let loose with a few choice words but noticed Glailen hadn’t moved and in fact was completely focused on something ahead. Stepping to the side, Vette spotted what had his attention.

Standing at the opposite side of the bridge, facing them, was a dark skinned human woman – another baby-Sith by her clothes. Scars marked her face but what caught Vette’s attention was the murderous look she was directing at Glailen. _Hopefully Glailen, anyway. I don’t know her. Hope I don’t know her_ , thought Vette. She looked at Glailen.

“Uh, you know her?” she asked. The Sith slowly shook his head without taking his eyes from the woman. 

“I have a feeling I should.” The cryptic reply from Glailen seemed to strike a nerve in the other woman as she bared her teeth in a silent snarl. 

“You murdered my father,” she called across the bridge. Frowning, Glailen strode forward, stopping halfway along the bridge. The woman did the same. Vette, who was still processing the woman’s words, half expected the two of them to draw their weapons and go at it without any further words. A few paces separated them as they studied each other. Vette elected to remain a couple meters further back. This wasn’t about her, after all. _If what she’s saying is true, I’m not even sure who I should cheer for_. It was an uncomfortable thought as Vette watched from what was probably not a safe distance but she kept telling herself it was. The woman’s hands were clenched into fists, almost like she was imagining choking the life from the man in front of her. Glailen on the other hand appeared calm; though a careful eye could see how he was tensed, ready to act in an instant. 

“I had my orders.” 

“Is that supposed to absolve you of guilt?” demanded the woman. 

“It was a fair fight – near as.” 

“Stop making excuses for yourself.” The woman cut a hand through the air as she took a step forward. 

“And this won’t bring him back.”

“I’m well aware!” she cried, one hand going to the handle of her warblade. Vette took an involuntary step back from the hate she felt coming from the woman. How Glailen managed to remain completely still boggled her mind. With a deliberate slow pace, the woman drew her warblade and leveled it at Glailen. 

“Your hands are covered with his blood. You can’t just walk away from this.” 

“Maybe not but,” in an instant Glailen had his lightsaber in his hands, ignited, “you have to know you’ll only have one chance.” The woman’s eyes flicked to the crimson blade and a shadow of worry passed over them but she stood her ground. Glailen continued speaking with an even tone.

“Are you sure you want to use it today? It might be better if you showed patience. Take your hate for me and become stronger. Let it burn inside you until you can’t take it anymore.” Keeping his lightsaber poised defensively, Glailen took a couple of steps to the side, leaving a path open across the bridge. Coincidentally, Vette felt extremely exposed at the same time. 

“Then come find me,” he finished. 

“You’re trying to convince me to spare your life?” she asked incredulously. Vette had to admit she was surprised too. Glailen had been eager to fight Vemrin but now he was not only showing restraint but encouraging the woman to try some other time. Why couldn’t he act like a normal person? _Of course, if he was a normal person then he wouldn’t be a Sith-in-training and we wouldn’t be in this situation. We wouldn’t even know each other. Not such a bad thing maybe?_ For his part, Glailen looked like he was nothing if not completely serious.

“I’m trying to tell you this, right here, what you’re doing, is more likely to end with your death than it is mine. Maybe one day the odds will shift in your favour but it is not today.” Pausing to let the words sink in, Glailen actually lowered his weapon though he didn’t deactivate it. Vette watched as the woman seriously considered what he said, watched as her anger was chipped away from within. 

“But I’m done talking,” resumed Glailen, pulling the woman back from her thoughts, “If you think I’m wrong then take your chance. Right now. Just remember you only get one.” With the ultimatum delivered, Glailen waited to see what the woman would choose. Vette found she was holding her breath and forced herself to exhale. As she kept watching the pair she came to the conclusion that while Glailen may be fairly nice to her, being around him was stressful enough to off-set it.

Whatever Vette was feeling, she could see the woman was having a worse time of it. The struggle was written plainly across her face. Honour her father and seek revenge now or let his killer walk with only a chance of finding him again one day. But maybe Glailen was right and she wasn’t ready for the fight – then she would accomplish nothing except joining her father in death. Maybe she could do more for his memory if she remained alive.

Maybe. 

With a low growl, the woman returned her warblade to its place at her back. She stared straight ahead, not at Vette but through her, and the hard look she wore was a match for anything Glailen could come up with. Vette felt frozen in place as the woman took several steps forward. Then, mercifully, as she stopped next to Glailen she turned her gaze from Vette and met his once more. Glailen stood a foot taller than her but at that moment they might as well have been the same height. For a few moments the woman studied Glailen, as though committing his every feature to memory, then made a show of looking at his right eye. Vette realized she was looking at that tattoo Glailen had. 

“At least everyone will know you’re a murderer.” The statement confused Vette and raised questions but she knew better than to say anything. 

“My name’s Eskella. Remember it, Glailen.” Without waiting for a response, Eskella broke away and walked on. Vette tensed as she approached but she might as well not have existed for all the attention Eskella gave her. She marched past Vette and continued back towards the academy. Vette watched her go until she was absolutely sure the other woman was out of ear shot. She turned to Glailen, his eyes following Eskella still. 

“Do you get along with anyone?” Slowly Glailen’s eyes slid to Vette. He cocked his head to the side, considering the question. After a moment he returned to watching Eskella.

“Just you,” he answered. Vette wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt uncomfortable. The best she could come up with was the fact she got along with a Sith. She shifted nervously and attempted to change topics. 

“Not that I was hoping for it but, um, why didn’t you just, you know,” Vette made a cutting gesture across her throat. 

“I understand her,” said Glailen, turning and resuming the walk to the landing pad. 

The remainder of the walk was uneventful, though Vette could have down without the uphill part. As they reached the crest, she could see two Imperial troopers standing guard at the shuttle’s lowered ramp. The guards quickly caught sight of them – easy to do with no one else around – and saluted when Glailen came close. One held the salute while the other dropped it after a second in order to pick up a case lying next to them. 

“Right on time, my Lord,” the first trooper commented as Glailen paused before them. The other trooper held out the case in offering. 

“There are clean clothes inside more suited to someone of your position, my Lord. A gift from Lord Baras.” There was a brief pause before Glailen took the case. Perhaps he wasn’t eager to receive anything from his master but at the same time he certainly couldn’t refuse. Had Vette been in his position she would have accepted with gratitude. After all, Glailen was still wearing the torn and filthy clothes from his time in the tomb. Of course so was she but that was different; her clothes, though filthy, weren’t torn. Glailen, on the other hand, was just walking around flashing his kolto patched wounds to the world like it was nothing. If the troopers noticed the hesitation, they didn’t show it.

“Kind of him,” he responded. 

“If you’ll get inside, the shuttle will take off now.” 

“Thank you, trooper.” Glailen nodded to the troopers as he ascended the ramp. Vette followed a second later, staring straight ahead. The troopers said nothing to her, made no comment of her presence, but it felt more like they were trying to pretend she didn’t exist rather than she wasn’t worth noticing. She hated it but in the end she wasn’t the one standing around in the heat trying to look important. What’s more, she wasn’t the one who would still be planetside in the next little while. 

That thought helped a little.

Once on board, Vette found the shuttle was empty except for Glailen and herself. Even the pilot was a droid. She didn’t mind but it came as a surprise as she was fully expecting the shuttle to be crowded with self-important Imperials. In any case she wouldn’t complain as she dropped into a seat and lifted her feet to rest on the chair next to her. Glailen disappeared into a small room Vette supposed was the lavatory. Barely a moment later and she felt the shuttle throom to life and begin its ascent. Either the shuttle had been waiting for them specifically or their timing was excellent indeed. Vette didn’t care either way as she looked out the viewport to watch the red landscape of Korriban grow more distant. Once or twice, while imprisoned, she had wondered if she would ever leave the planet – alive or otherwise. Now she finally was and it felt like a small weight was being lifted from her shoulders. 

Glailen spent a few minutes locked away before finally coming out of hiding. He was still adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves as he exited the room. Vette wondered if there was any chance there was a shower in the lavatory but she found her eyes drifting over to Glailen. She had to admit she was impressed with the transformation a new and clean set of clothes did. The clothes – a Sith uniform of sorts, Vette supposed – followed a red colour scheme and made Glailen look less like some street thug on Hutta and more like a Sith warrior. Something that was annoyingly both a good and bad thing in Vette’s estimation. He glanced at her and with a start Vette realized she was staring. She quickly took to looking around the cabin casually, hastily thinking of something to say. 

“So, uh, what ship are we taking?” 

“It’s a cargo freighter,” Glailen checked a file on his data-watch, eyes quickly scanning the line. He found the name. 

“The Black Talon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was a long one. Again, sorry for the wait. Here's to me getting back in my writing schedule. Cheers.


	6. Black Talon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Glailen and Vette leave Korriban they are ready for an easy trip to the capital of the Empire. On their voyage aboard the Black Talon, however, they will learn there is nothing easy in a Sith's life. The Empire makes demands of its subjects and those demands can drive a person to their very limits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it a new chapter? Truly? You bet it is and it's the longest one yet. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Once off Korriban and, more importantly, away from the Sith Academy, Vette had assumed she would be more comfortable with her surroundings. That proved to be only marginally true. Vaiken Spacedock was little better from the academy as it too was overrun with Sith and Imperials. Crazy as it sounded, the bounty hunters, of which it seemed one in twenty people appeared to be, made Vette feel like she was less out of place. Of course, bounty hunters were not welcoming and, given that Vette was a twi’lek, nor were Sith and Imperials. Much like on Korriban, Vette followed closely to Glailen in order to avoid any confrontations. 

The spacedock was not crowded but it was certainly busy as Glailen led them through the station in search of their transport. A protocol droid had offered decent directions but was too busy to direct them itself. Everyone appeared busy but apparently not so busy that half of them couldn’t spare her a disapproving frown. Bounty hunters were tolerated for the specific services they provided the Empire but Vette knew she didn’t have the look of one and that was enough for everyone else to assume she was a slave. It grated on her, made all the more worse because they were technically right. _Well, if I’m going to be hanging around Glailen for a while then I’ll have plenty of time to get used to being surrounded by speciest slime all day_. The thought did nothing to improve Vette’s mood as her eyes shifted around. Passing an open door, Vette stared inside and locked on the sight at the end of the hall. She knew a cantina when she saw one and she could see one quite clearly, so close. She didn’t care that it would be full of drunk Imperials, bounty hunters and maybe even some Sith; she would kill for a drink right now. But as quickly as it came into view it was gone as the pair continued on their path. Glailen hadn’t slowed, likely hadn’t seen the cantina or simply not cared. It took all of Vette’s will to keep from slipping back and venturing into the den of alcoholic beverages.

It was some time before they came upon what Vette presumed was the right hanger but the door was closed. A nimodean was standing nearby, his clothes marked him as part of the Imperial Navy. One of the oddest things for Vette to see continued to be seeing someone other than a human in an Imperial uniform. That was like kissing the hand that hit you. But if one couldn’t beat them then there was one alternative and the Republic, for all their moral high ground, had failed to beat the Empire. Though he was focused on his holopad, the nimodean looked up at their approach. 

“You must be Darth Baras’ apprentice.” 

“That’s right,” said Glailen, who apparently had no trouble accepting that everyone knew who he was on sight. Vette shook her head while looking around; it was creepy, like having eyes watching you everywhere. 

“It’s good that you have arrived but we are not quite ready to launch. There is refueling and some maintenance to be done but we should be good to go in an hour or two, my Lord.” Hearing those words dealt a serious blow to Vette’s spirits. The thought of being stuck on this station, surrounded by the best of the Empire, for a couple of hours filled her with anxiety. Her nerves needed help.

“Very well. Thank you,” responded Glailen, turning away to face Vette. The nimodean immediately went back to whatever he was working on. Glailen offered a shrug as he shared a look with Vette. 

“I guess we have some time to ourselves then. There must be something we can do on this station.” 

“Like get a drink?” The words were out of her mouth before she realized she would say them but Vette had no regrets. As far as she was concerned, there was no reason they couldn’t. Glailen cocked an eyebrow at her, apparently not feeling as certain as she.

“Look, it’s been a long day and I could use a real drink. Since we have time to kill, why not?” If Vette sounded a little pleading then that was obviously because she was tired and no one should look any further into it. Glailen only considered for a moment before nodding. 

“All right but it could be difficult finding a place to drink here.” 

“Not so hard. I saw a cantina on our way here.” Was that a smirk Vette caught on Glailen’s face? It was gone too fast to tell as he waved a hand back the way they’d came. 

“Okay, lead the way.” Lead Vette did and with enthusiasm. It was Glailen’s turn to make an effort at keeping pace as Vette was feeling her first real motivation to be somewhere since getting caught in the tomb. 

Retracing their steps was an easy thing but the walk was not without some unease. All of which stemmed from the looks directed Vette’s way but these stares were different from the ones she was used to. There was surprise – shock even – anger, a different variety of disgust; it all made Vette decidedly uncomfortable, especially since she wasn’t sure why everyone they passed looked at her like that. Then it hit her. She was leading Glailen around. It wasn’t the normal sight of a Sith going about his business with his slave in tow, it was the other way round and people didn’t know what to think but they knew they didn’t like what they saw. 

 _They can keep on thinking what they’d like_. Defiantly Vette strode through the halls and kept her eyes straight. She wouldn’t let anyone get to her. Besides, she had somewhere important to be and before long she found the hallway she was looking for. There, at the end, was the cantina and Vette had to stop herself from running the rest of the way.

Once inside she took a look around. It was quieter than what she was used to and darker too. None of that was important though, only the bar that stood at the center of the room. Glailen moved up beside her. 

“Pleasant place.” 

“Yeah; if you’ve been to one then you’ve been to them all. Except the ones on Nar Shadaa – those are in a league of their own.” Glailen merely grunted in response. He probably had no experience of his own and simply accepted what Vette had to say. They descended a short flight of stairs and moved to the center of the floor. Glailen put a hand out to stay her as he kept moving towards the bar.

“I’ll grab the drinks, you can look for a place to sit.” Vette considered arguing but decided not to. Anything Glailen brought back was good enough at the moment. 

“Sure thing,” she said absently though Glailen was already too far away to hear. Vette looked to her right and then to her left. She made a slow circle, eyes scanning the room, and groaned with annoyance. The place was packed but it wasn’t so empty as for she and Glailen to sit at a table where other patrons wouldn’t be able to listen in on their conversation. There were mostly Imperials sitting around – a few Sith could be seen easily by the wide berth everyone gave them – and it was the Imperials she was least interested in being near. 

 _Dummy. What did you expect to find in a cantina on an Imperial space station?_ Of course, Vette hadn’t fooled herself into thinking the cantina would be relatively empty but she had convinced herself she wouldn’t be bothered by anyone around her. She pretended to keep an eye on Glailen but out of the corner of her eyes she was watching those sitting nearby. It was easy to see them watching her because they did so openly and they did nothing to hide the comments they were making to each other. Vette was too far away to hear them but she didn’t need to because she had heard it all before. They would make some spiciest remark about her drinking in the same place as them and then they would start making suggestions. Ones related to what the enslaved women of her species were well known for in such establishments. Finally, after they had a little more alcohol in them, they would turn to her with those leering eyes and– 

Vette shuddered. No, she absolutely did not want to sit near a bunch of drunk Imperials. She folded her arms and kept from fidgeting though she was painfully aware of how exposed she was. All around she could feel eyes on her – of course they were watching her, she was one of the few people not sitting and she was standing in the center of the most open space in the room. For everyone else, she didn’t belong and so their eyes were drawn to her. The more she thought about it the more she wanted to turn and leave or scream or…or pull out her blasters and start shooting everyone and everything! 

“You’re drink?” With a start Vette opened eyes she hadn’t realized were closed and found Glailen standing in front of her, holding out a glass. Hastily she searched for something to say to cover up her surprise. 

“You know, we’re probably going to spend the entire flight on our butts. Why not stretch our legs a bit longer?” Vette snapped her jaw shut and struggled to appear at ease. That wasn’t how she felt inside though. It was a terrible excuse to give after they’d spent all day walking around through sand and in caves. She simply couldn’t come up with anything else right away. 

“If you’d like.” Then Glailen mercifully, without missing a beat, agreed without any arguing. Vette hid her sigh of relief by taking a quick swig of her drink. She considered its taste as they moved from the center of the room to stand closer to the entrance. The drink wasn’t bad but it was a far cry from the best Vette had ever had. But, of course, it did the job as she already felt tense muscles relaxing. She took another healthy pull and brought her glass down to half. A glance at Glailen showed he had barely taken a sip from his and was instead slowly spinning the glass, eyes staring intently at the amber liquid. 

“I’ve spent my whole life with either no credits or just enough to get by but now, as an apprentice, my monthly allotment is…well I don’t know what to do with it.” Glailen offered a shrug as he met Vette’s eyes. 

 _If you don’t know then you could give it to me. I can think of a few things._ Luckily Vette was smart enough not to say what she was thinking. She gave some thought to Glailen’s…predicament. 

“But that’s what you worked for, right? I mean the apprenticeship – being Sith and all that. You’ve earned it with hard work and by being the last one standing. It’s only right that you get some perks out of it. That’s why it’s earned.” Glailen seemed to consider the words for a time, looking again at his drink as though it might offer its own words of wisdom. Finally, his gaze returned to Vette, this time with the slightest of smiles.

“You’re right, of course.” 

“So, here’s to you, boss!” Raising the glass to her lips, Vette took another mouthful. After a second, Glailen did the same. They pulled away at the same time with contented sighs. Glailen gave her an appraising look.

“And I couldn’t have done it without you, Vette. I’m grateful.” 

“Grateful enough to take this shock collar off?” said Vette with a chuckle. Her mirth was suddenly cut off as realization dawned. Why had she asked that? The words just came before she knew what was happening. _Why is it so hard for me to watch what I say around him?_ The question meant little to her as Glailen’s expression fell into a frown, directing hard eyes at her. 

For a long moment he just stared at her, then he reached into a back pocket of his pants. Vette’s eyes flicked to his hand as it revealed a familiar device. The remote for the shock collar. Vette felt her heart sink at the sight. She had finally done it, finally taken things too far. It was worse when she thought about it too; after Glailen used the shock collar once he would be quicker to do so again the next time. That was how it worked with people. 

Glailen brought that remote closer to her. She watched as it inched towards her face, taunting her with the pain it would bring. Despite herself, Vette found her eyes squeezing shut as the anticipation of what was to come quickly became fear. She wouldn’t cry out with her mouth firmly closed though – she absolutely would not do anything resembling begging. 

 _But I hate this waiting! Just do it already!_

There was an audible _click_ and Vette’s eyes shot open, flicking to the left where they found the remote next to her neck. But it was being pulled away and with it came – _the collar_. Vette did nothing to hide her shock as she tentatively rubbed the back of her neck. She rolled her head from side to side, marveling at the freedom of movement she had grown used to not having. It was…odd losing the weight at her neck but most welcome. 

“Wow,” she breathed, “okay, I didn’t think it would be that easy.” Glailen, with shock collar and remote in hand, was looking around as if to find a place to discard the pair. It quickly became apparent there was no such place and decided to put them away in his pack.

“You’ve earned it, Vette,” he said but hesitated, pausing in the motion of zipping up his bag, “it is not freedom though. You serve a Sith as all in the Empire do.” Vette was quick to hold her free hand up in a placating gesture, still riding the wave of relief that came from being free of that damned collar. 

“Hey, I get it. I’m just glad to be free of that thing.” Glailen nodded at the words, able to empathize with the statement. Another point in his favour in Vette’s mind. They stood in silence for a time, Glailen content on nursing his drink with short sips but Vette found she had too much on her mind now. 

“So, uh, what happens now?” The question seemed to catch Glailen off-guard as he stopped just before taking a pull from his beverage. He took a second to think on his answer but nodded when apparently reaching a decision. 

“You and I taking on the galaxy, one world at a time. What do you say?” To add emphasis, Glailen held out his hand. 

“What?” asked Vette, taking an involuntary step back from that empty hand. 

In Glailen’s eyes, Vette could see his conviction, that he meant his words. Still she couldn’t bring herself to meet him halfway. The thought of shaking his hand felt like she would be selling something deeply important. But there he stood, waiting patiently and unmoving. His expression unreadable but his piercing eyes never wavered. 

Could she actually say no though? Glailen himself had said she wasn’t actually free. Whether she wanted it or not, her life was now following a Sith around and probably getting into a lot of violent trouble. He knows it though – he knows all of it and he’s trying to find a compromise. No matter what anyone else would do, Sith or otherwise, Glailen was trying to make things not right but as right as they could be in the world he lived. All she had to do was meet him halfway.

She reached out and took his hand. 

“All right.” They shook briefly. Vette put on a smile she wasn’t sure was genuine. 

“Me and my pal the Sith, let’s see anyone get in our way.”

“Then it’s agreed. A new partnership.” To seal the deal, Glailen lifted his drink and began draining the glass in one go. Vette cocked an eyebrow at the sight. After a second she joined him. When both were finished they stood around without anything to say, both lost in their thoughts. Finally, Vette handed her glass to a passing serving droid. Glailen followed her example. 

“What do you say, back to the ship now?” asked Vette. Glailen took a brief look around the room before nodding. 

“Yes, I think so.”                                                         

* * *

 

“You’ve returned, good, it’s best if you’re here with time to settle before departure.” The nimodean was right where they had left him, still working away on his holopad but not so absorbed as to fail to greet them. Glailen inclined his head marginally as they approached.

“That was our reasoning.” Nodding, the nimodean turned to a protocol droid standing nearby. 

“Escort our guests to their quarters.” 

“At once, sir,” responded the droid. The droid beckoned them to follow, which Glailen saw no reason not to now that the nimodean appeared to have forgotten them already, returning to his holopad. 

The droid led them through a doorway and onto a tubular walkway leading out from the space dock to the ship that would take them to Dromund Kaas. Smaller ships were able to land directly inside the space dock but the Black Talon was too large. Instead it was hooked to the station via several boarding tubes. Each served its own purpose in regards to supply or maintenance but the one Glailen and Vette found themselves on was used for general boarding. 

Large sections of the tube were made out of transparisteel, allowing Glailen to get a good look at the station from the outside. The station was not particularly busy but there were still a couple dozen ships that could be seen docking or departing. Further away Glailen spotted the reassuring shapes of Star Destroyers. Korriban was one of the worlds the Imperial Navy always maintained a presence around. Below was the beautiful jewel of the Sith home world itself. The whole scene filled the young Sith with pride. He wondered how many more times he would see the same from other space docks. More than that, he wondered how many more times he would feel the same pride before it became as normal as seeing mountains or forests on a planet. Deep down Glailen admitted he would lose the sense of pride from the sight but he would never lose it from being part of the Empire. 

Abruptly Glailen stopped, sensing Vette was no longer following. He turned to find her staring intently out of one of the windows but not at the space dock or any of the things Glailen had been admiring. All of her focus was on the ship they were about to board. Glailen walked over to stand next to her and peered out the window, it offered an excellent view of the large white letters painted on the ship’s hull to display its name. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Vette said, shaking her head. Glailen shrugged his lack of concern. 

“We’re on a transport vessel not designed for combat traveling deep within Empire territory. The chances of us getting into any sort of trouble are miniscule.” Vette turned her gaze to Glailen and he could see she was anything but convinced. After a moment she sighed and backed away from the window. 

“Uh-huh.” 

Glailen watched her go, considered saying more but thought better of it. There was nothing he could say that would ease her mind but he knew she would feel better after they were in transit for a couple of hours. Instead he looked back at the ship through the window. Suddenly his vision blurred. Glailen rubbed a hand over his eyes while suppressing a groan. How long had it been since he slept? Too long. Far too long with everything he had been through. The Force could keep him focused for only so long. There was no true substitute for sleep. Once settled on the Black Talon he would use the time to get some well-earned rest. He resumed his walk with that thought in mind and very much looking forward to it. 

He caught up to Vette and the droid just inside the ship. An Imperial officer, flanked by two troopers, was there to meet them. _Or rather here to greet me_ , thought Glailen as the officer immediately disregarded the others as he arrived. She stood razor straight, hair tied back, uniform impeccable and radiating an aura of professionalism. In short she was everything an Imperial officer was supposed to be. It was an effort for Glailen not to salute her and even more so when she did so for him. 

“Greetings, my lord. I’m Lieutenant Sylas. You’re Darth Baras’ apprentice I presume. It’s always a pleasure to service the Sith.” 

“Thank you, lieutenant. This appears to be an excellent ship; I’m sure its crew is equal in quality.” Lieutenant Sylas seemed surprised by Glailen’s comments as her momentarily broken composure showed. Glailen couldn’t blame her. Members of the Empire’s military were not used to receiving compliments from Sith, especially recently made apprentices. After spending years under the heels of the overseers, many apprentices were quick to flaunt the power that came with their position. Glailen was not interested in having such an arrogant approach.

“You’re too kind, my lord, but I’ll be sure to pass along your compliments.” Glailen glanced at Vette, sensing amusement from her, and found her hiding a small smile. He wasn’t sure why but thought nothing of it as the lieutenant changed the subject. 

“The captain sends his apologies for not being here – he prefers to remain at his post on the bridge – but allow me to welcome you aboard.” Glailen nodded as he waved off any concern. 

“You can tell the captain it’s fine. I wasn’t actually expecting to be greeted by anyone upon my arrival. My companion and I are just here for passage to Dromund Kaas. We’ll stay out of your way.” Sylas nodded at the statement. 

“Well we should arrive in just under a day. I’ll inform you when we’ve arrived at the Dromund system. If you need anything else, please, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you. That will be well.” Lieutenant Sylas offered a bow before turning and leaving, presumably returning to the bridge. The droid beckoned Glailen and Vette to follow it and they were led through the vessel for a time before reaching what appeared to be the section of the ship dedicated to living quarters. They stopped at a door that was further away from the majority in the hall. After a quick code was entered by the droid, the door slid open to reveal a rather large room containing a sitting space, bathroom, small kitchen and sleeping area. It was the latter that drew Glailen’s attention as he walked in. 

“This will be your room for the duration of the flight, my Lord. The Black Talon is primarily a supply transport vessel but it does host a number of VIP rooms. We hope this will be to your liking.” 

“It appears to have everything I could ask for on a short trip,” responded Glailen, admittedly hoping the droid would make a quick exit. 

“Very good, my Lord. Your companion will have the room adjacent which you can access through that door.” Glailen and Vette turned as one to the door in question. 

“Wonderful,” stated Vette as she walked over to the door. There was annoyance in Vette but Glailen ignored it as he turned back to the droid. 

“These rooms will do well. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me but if you require anything else, please, do not hesitate to ask.” With that, gratefully, the droid left, leaving Glailen and Vette to themselves. Glailen didn’t have to wait long to be left alone as Vette opened the door to her room, though she paused before entering. 

“Well, I’m going to get settled in.” Glailen nodded but then Vette put on a smirk that appeared awkward to him. 

“Don’t forget to knock before entering, yeah?” 

“I’ll be sure to remember my manners,” assured Glailen. This seemed to satisfy Vette as she disappeared into her room, closing the door behind her. 

Glailen waited a couple of heartbeats before letting out an exhausted sigh. He considered doing a few things but didn’t really believe he could do anything other than drop into bed. There was barely time to remove his protective vest and the shirt underneath before his body gave in. A brief glance at the chronometer next to the bed – feeling a twinge of excitement at how much time he had to rest – was all he could manage before his eyes closed and he became lost in the dark. 

The door chime woke him. It wasn’t a particularly loud or annoying but it was a sound that dragged him from his sleep, therefore he immediately hated it. Something between a growl and a whimper escaped his lips as he rose to a sitting position at the edge of the bed. A look at the chronometer said he had barely been out of it for an hour. The chime came again and Glailen got unsteadily to his feet, struggling against the groggy stupor that came from being awaken too soon. He looked around the room for his discarded shirt and began shuffling towards it even as the person on the other side of the door decided to try knocking loudly. As far as Glailen was concerned they could wait until he considered himself presentable. 

 _Then they’d better have a damn good reason for waking a Sith._

Suddenly Glailen heard the sound of the door opening. Light flooded into the dark room, illuminating Glailen with his back to the door. His hand went to his belt expecting to find his lightsaber but discovering it wasn’t there. A faint memory came to Glailen of him placing the weapon on the stand next to his bed – meaning it was closer to the intruder than to him. Cursing himself, he summoned the lightsaber to his hands even as he spun to face the doorway. The instant he felt the weapon in his grip he ignited the blade and assumed a battle stance. Catching sight of the intruder, he almost felt foolish for the reaction; feeling more confused than threatened 

A protocol droid stood in the doorway, its head turning so its round optics could take in the room. After completing a complete cycle it settled its attention on Glailen and didn’t seem concerned that he had not abandoned his battle-ready pose. 

“Subject confirmed,” it stated, “greetings. I am NR-O2. You have been selected to assist in an important mission. My master wishes to speak with you. May I come in?” A moment passed where Glailen considered the situation before his curiosity won through.

“You may.” 

“Who is your master?” asked Glailen as the door closed behind NR-O2. 

“Grand Moff Rykus Kilran.” Glailen blinked then deactivated his lightsaber. He couldn’t help but give one longing glance towards the bed he was already missing while rubbing a sore shoulder. His attention returned to the droid. 

“Give me a moment.” Without waiting for a reply he walked over to the door connecting his room to the one Vette was staying in. He knocked twice.

“Vette, are you there?” There was a momentary pause, then Vette’s muffled voice came through the door. 

“Uh, yeah. You okay? Thought I heard your lightsaber.” 

“Will you come over? It seems we have a mission.” 

“Sure thing.” Despite the agreement, the uncertainty in Vette’s tone was not lost on Glailen. He couldn’t blame her. NR-O2’s optics followed Glailen as he moved from the door. Likewise Glailen kept one eye on the droid as he went in search of his shirt again. 

“I am aware of your slave. She does not have clearance to listen–” 

“Vette will be assisting me in whatever this mission is. Explaining the task once is better than explaining it twice, yes?” Glailen faced NR-O2 and spoke firmly in hopes the droid would understand not to pursue the matter further. It seemed to consider its options for a second before reaching a conclusion. 

“Very well,” it replied in a perfectly obedient manner. 

Glailen suppressed a sigh. It was an awkward situation but he couldn’t be angry with NR-O2 having its particular opinions of Vette; after all it was programmed to. That didn’t mean it wasn’t annoying to deal with. At least droids could be counted on not to let bias interfere in their work. Glailen was just bending down to retrieve his shirt when he heard the door open behind him. 

“What, did he catch you getting out of the shower?” Looking back, Glailen found Vette stopped in the doorway to appraise the situation. If she was trying to embarrass him then she would have to try harder. 

“I was sleeping.” 

“I figured,” she replied with a grin, “but imagining a droid catching you getting out of a shower is more amusing.”

“Have you reconsidered?” asked the droid.

“Reconsidered what?” Vette, ever curious, cut in before Glailen could address NR-O2. 

“Nothing,” he said, waving both twi’lek and droid to drop the topic. They had more important things to be talking about, as far as he was concerned, and he wanted to get on with it. 

“It seems NR-O2 is here on behalf of someone very powerful.” As Glailen spoke NR-O2 finished establishing the necessary connection and a blue hologram, no more than two feet tall, appeared over the dining table. 

“Grand Moff Rykus Kilran,” intoned Glailen, meaning it both as an introduction for Vette and a greeting for the moff. The Sith apprentice gave a shallow bow of his head, ignoring the surprised look the action earned from Vette. 

“It’s good to hear my reputation precedes me,” said Kilran conversationally, “although I do prefer the title Butcher of Coruscant.” If Lieutenant Sylas had worn a commanding professional aura than the moff before Glailen looked as though he were born to it. Kilran was a powerfully built man, wide in the shoulders, and with a penetrating gaze that hid one of the finest strategic minds the Empire had to offer. Yes, Glailen was familiar with the man. 

“And what can I do for the commander of the Fifth Fleet?” he asked.

“My, you are well informed,” said Kilran with the slightest upward tilt of an eyebrow. If the moff was taken off-guard by Glailen’s knowledge, he didn’t let it distract him for more than an instant. 

“A short time ago a skirmish took place with several Republic vessels. One of them, the Brentaal Star, escaped.” A hole opened up in Glailen’s stomach. He wasn’t sure why yet but he wasn’t in the habit of ignoring his feelings. Still, he kept quiet as Kilran continued. 

“Our intelligence indicates a defector is aboard referred to only as ‘the general.’ We don’t know who they are but we do know the Republic believes he knows various military secrets. Our secrets. That vessel cannot be allowed to reach Republic space.” Kilran paused a moment to allow his words to sink in and it was well he did. The severity of the situation was beginning to become clear to Glailen. If a traitor was to provide the Republic with important military information it could tip the balance of power. Such a move would undermine all the sacrifices made by the Empire in the Great War that had led to its rise and territorial acquisitions. A betrayal of the Empire and its people. Anger filled Glailen.

“The Black Talon is the only ship close enough to intercept in time. Unfortunately Captain Orvik doesn’t share my enthusiasm. He has disobeyed my orders.” Suddenly all that anger that had been growing now drained away. It rushed into that pit in Glailen’s stomach as he began to understand. He now knew why he was talking with Grand Moff Kilran. 

“This is where you come in. Take command of the Black Talon, intercept the Republic vessel and do not allow the general to escape. NR-O2 will assist you.” Another pause. Glailen licked his dry lips to speak. 

“The Black Talon is not a vessel made for combat,” he said, glad his voice remained steady and sure. Kilran’s eyes narrowed slightly at the comment. 

“I am well aware of the Black Talon’s capabilities. We use the tools available to us; I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” responded Glailen, realizing there would be no dissuading the moff. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. 

“We’ll begin immediately. The general will not escape.” A small smile appeared on Kilran’s lips. 

“Excellent. So good to see patriotism is still alive in these times of border skirmishes and so-called peace.” Before anything else could be said the connection was broken leaving a heavy silence on the room. Glailen’s vision began to spin alarmingly. He leaned forward, planting his hands on the table, the same one Kilran’s image had stood on, to steady himself.

“He can’t be serious. He’s not serious.” Vette spoke up behind him. Feeling her ambivalence and anxiety was like looking at a mirror of Glailen’s own. Although, while hers remained constant, Glailen’s grew with each passing second. 

“I assure you, Moff Kilran is very serious on this matter,” said NR-O2. Vette was about to offer a retort but thought better of arguing with a droid. She took a step closer to Glailen, reaching one hand out imploringly. 

“Are we really doing this? We’re going to fight Imperials to get them to fight the Republic?” 

“We have our orders.” As he spoke, Glailen’s hands folded into fists, squeezing painfully. Vette pulled the hand back as though he had slapped it away. 

“I feel like the Republic is laughing at us this exact second,” she mumbled in frustration. 

_‘They care so little for us.’_

“It’s a uniquely extraneous situation that does not allow us proper preparation. We have to make do.” 

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say.” Glailen bit back a retort to Vette’s comment. He wasn’t angry with her; he was just trying to accept the position he was in. Was he really going to kill Imperials? He thought of the lightsaber at his side and wanted to throw it across the room. The first time he would use it against someone and it was to be those he should consider allies. 

Shaking his head, Glailen wanted to chide himself. Why should he be so hesitant? The captain had made his decision and it was the wrong one. Of course, the rest of the crew had been given no say in it yet they would stand between their captain and a rampaging Sith. That shouldn’t make a difference either. Any other Sith in Glailen’s position wouldn’t think twice. But there wasn’t anyone else there. It was just him, Glailen Reichscher, and at that moment he held any number of lives in his hands. 

 _‘They care so little for us. But you can be different.’_

He whipped around to face the others. His gaze flitted to the blasters at Vette’s hips, then up to her face. Vette nearly jumped back when his eyes found her. 

“Do those blasters have stun capabilities?” he asked, voice hard.

“Yeah, but not very strong…” 

“Use it. Doesn’t need to be strong, we just need to clear the way to the bridge,” said Glailen as he unhooked his lightsaber. He studied it as though he had never seen it before. Reaching the bridge without…well, it would be a challenge for him. 

“If you’re worried about loss of life, I assure you–” NR-O2 cut off abruptly when Glailen suddenly turned and advanced on it a step. The droid did not back away but its optics whirred erratically for a second – the equivalent of a person retreating to the back of the room.

“We will avoid using lethal force.” Droids were not typically programed with the ability to fear but self-preservation was another thing. At that moment NR-O2 was aware of the consequences of pushing Glailen in his state of mind. 

“Very well,” the droid relented. Satisfied, Glailen went for the door; the others were forced to follow. 

“What if we run into battledroids?” asked Vette cautiously.

“I’ll handle them.” 

“Sure but, like, what if we run into a lot of them?” Glailen ignored the question as he stepped out into the hall. He looked right and then turned left, hoping to find that perfect balance of speed and casualness as he avoided meeting the eyes of the pair of crewmates walking in his direction. Once Vette and NR-O2 were in the hall with him, he began marching along. He kept telling himself there was no reason for anyone to suspect them. No one would be eager to bother a Sith and as such would find reasons to look the other way when one passed. They wouldn’t be able to get all the way to the bridge uninterrupted but the closer they got the better it would be. 

Glailen turned a corner and his steps slowed for a second upon seeing the three troopers positioned to block anyone from advancing further. There was one trooper at either side of the hall with an officer standing in the center. They came to attention upon seeing they had visitors; the officer held up a hand bidding Glailen and his companions to stop. 

“I’m sorry, my Lord, but the captain has given orders that only authorized personnel may continue beyond this point.” 

The officer had barely finished speaking when Glailen reached out a hand, felt the Force latch onto the blaster rifle each trooper held, and pulled back. The troopers stumbled forward as their weapons were ripped from their hands. Glailen rushed forward with incredible speed, reaching the shocked officer in an instant to deliver a hammering punch to his gut. As he doubled over Glailen finished it with an elbow strike to the back of the man’s head. He looked to his left, eyes finding the trooper on that side turning to run just as a pair of blaster bolts punched into them. They collapsed to the ground but Glailen sensed they were still alive – Vette had used the stun as requested. One trooper remained, however, and it was to them Glailen turned. He looked over and felt alarm to see the trooper wasn’t trying to escape but rather was going for a control panel close by. A blaster bolt whipped past their head; a second struck their right arm causing it to hang limply at their side. They recovered quickly and reached out with their left hand to strike a single button. Glailen felt admiration for the trooper’s dedication even as he used the Force to slam them against the wall. 

The damage was done.

Glailen turned his gaze to his companions. 

“Sorry!” cried Vette over the alarm now blaring through the ship. 

“Keep moving!” Without waiting another moment, Glailen followed his own command and took off at a sprint. He knew he would easily outpace the others and recognized the danger of them becoming separated but there was little choice. They were on a timer and had just lost of a lot of time. 

Glailen moved quick but made sure to keep his senses sharp, seeking any threats or surprises. He had hoped to get much closer to the bridge before being forced to act but now the only way forward was with force. The lightsaber, not yet ignited, felt heavy in his hands as he ran through the halls. He was trained with bladed weapons but his knowledge of blaster bolt deflection was quite limited. Droids didn’t worry him so much but if he encountered a group of troopers and was forced to engage…he hadn’t planned on using the deadly weapon on Imperials. 

Certainly not this soon. 

As if to mock Glailen, a side door opened up ahead and he could sense the anticipation from the other side. Gritting his teeth, Glailen quickened his pace and leapt into a spin, reaching out with the Force to lift a pair of supply containers and, as he came to face the doorway, threw the containers at the troopers. He wondered if he used too much force as he heard the containers slam into their targets but he couldn’t dwell on it. As he landed from his jump he resumed his sprint without missing a step. There was no time for wasted movement. 

Glailen came upon a short stairway which he bounded up taking the steps three at a time. At the top he spotted a pair of battledroids ready to block his way. Behind them a blast door was beginning to close. Glailen ignited his weapon. He didn’t have to hold back against droids. Roaring, he dashed towards them.

“Cease hostile activities and surrender to vessel security. This is your only warning.” 

Glailen’s mind didn’t register the droid’s words and he closed the distance too fast for them to open fire. He rammed his lightsaber through the droid on the right and angled its chassis to block the blaster fire that came from the remaining droid. Glailen grabbed the blaster from the first droid before using the Force to send it flying at its comrade. He didn’t wait for the second droid to recover before firing a few bolts to keep it down. Immediately he turned and dove through the shrinking space between the blast doors. 

 _Navy regulations dictates the main power supply is there!_  

Glailen rolled to the side and slashed at a metal panel, deep enough for the blade to reach the important wires underneath. The blast doors stopped moving but Glailen didn’t. 

_And the back-up power will be there!_

He threw his lightsaber above to impale a metal box on the ceiling. The blast doors were still not moving and Glailen was confident they would remain that way. After a second, Glailen’s lightsaber slid free of its hole and he used the Force to guide it safely into his waiting hand. Through the Force he knew he was not alone and looked over his shoulder to find Vette, breathing heavily but unscathed, leaning against the other side of the blast doors. NR-O2 was just then reaching the top of the stairs. They were keeping up well. 

“Wow, nice job,” offered Vette as she surveyed Glailen’s work. Glailen nodded in acknowledgement before turning to resume his trek through the ship. He took one step before stumbling as pain lanced through his leg; free hand instinctively going to the source. 

“Hey, are you all right?” Glailen heard the concern in Vette’s voice. Heard it and did not care for it as he looked back at her.

“Stay focused,” he ground out through clenched teeth. Without waiting for her response or reaction, he pushed through the pain and broke into a run. 

Even in death, Vemrin was still threatening Glailen’s life. The blows he’d delivered – particularly the one on the leg – were crying out now. They needed healing. The kolto patchs could do their job but they needed time. More importantly, they needed Glailen to not be running around exacerbating the damage. There was nothing to be done for it though. All Glailen could do was ignore the pain as needed; use it when possible. 

Before long he reached a lift; unguarded. With it he could reach the level where the bridge was. Vette and NR-O2 could call it back once they arrived. Eventually they would catch up. Staying alert, Glailen stepped on and tried the controls. Nothing happened. The system was locked. Glailen let out an irritated sigh. Of course the lift wouldn’t work for him. He would need to take the long way to his destination. Unless, of course, NR-O2 proved useful. 

Glailen searched for his companions; sure enough they were on their way. Waiting for them to catch up was a different kind of agony though. They moved as quick as they could and Glailen knew it – he didn’t blame them – but precious moments were lost as the Sith stood in place with as much patience as he could muster. Any advantage he’d gained by striking through the ship defenses before they were ready was effectively lost and he was acutely aware of it. 

 _Nothing to be done for it. Focus on solutions._ Those words repeated themselves too many times in Glailen’s head for him to do much thinking on solutions. Vette caught up first, of course, and took the time to catch her breath. She didn’t ask what the holdup was; whether because she trusted Glailen to have a reason for waiting or because she was just glad to take a moment’s rest. A short time later NR-O2 arrived as well. Glailen didn’t waste time. 

“Tell me you can get this elevator working.” 

“Of course,” responded the droid as it shuffled onto the platform. Its organic companions joined it. 

They settled in while NR-O2 connected to the elevator’s panel and began working away. In seconds the door closed and the lift began moving. Glailen was hyper-alert, listening intently to NR-O2 working, to the lift sliding almost soundlessly up its tube, to Vette’s erratic breathing and to the pounding of blood in his ears. His eyes were fixed on the doors, his body fully prepared to act in and instant. 

“This is Captain Orvik of the Black Talon,” the sudden intrusion on the silence within the elevator caused Vette to jump and Glailen to ignite his lightsaber, “Sith, I don’t know what this is about but I implore you stop this before–” The words suddenly cut off. 

“I have cut off the audio to this lift’s speakers,” stated NR-O2. Glailen resisted the urge to curse as he deactivated his weapon. Jumping at words – he was on edge, which was understandable but he needed more control. 

“Are you okay?” whispered Vette, perhaps afraid to break the silence as it had been a moment earlier. Glailen kept his eyes focused on the door. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Hey.” Glailen felt a hand on his arm and his head whipped around. Vette flinched at the reaction, retracting her hand, but it only took a second for her to gather herself. 

“Are you okay?” she asked again, empathising the words. Glailen opened his mouth to speak but stopped and closed it again. He could sense the genuine concern in Vette. Exhaling heavily through his nose, he tried again. 

“I have to be.” The words earned a grimace from Vette as she lowered her gaze. 

“Okay, when you put it that way…” 

“We have arrived,” intoned NR-O2. 

Glailen’s head snapped to the doors as they began to open. His eyes widened, pulse quickened. He shoved Vette next to NR-O2, out of sight, and ignited his lightsaber. Six troopers and two battledroids unleashed a barrage of blaster fire. Panic threatened to overtake Glailen but he quickly isolated it and locked it away. He called upon the Force and allowed it to guide his movements as his lightsaber moved to intercept any bolts that came too close to hitting their target. The crimson blade moved with such speed there was no time to think about the next action, only to feel it. Even so, Glailen couldn’t ignore the voice in his head screaming that he wouldn’t last more than a few moments under such pressure. What was more, he didn’t have time to think about where he was deflecting the blaster bolts. As though to prove the point, a bolt struck the wall between Vette and NR-O2. Vette yelped – NR-O2 seemed not to notice or at least not to care. Glailen noticed and he cared. There was no way he could accept one of his companions falling because of a mistake he made. An instant later and a bolt was deflected back at the shooters. It traveled to the left side, past the battledroid, past one trooper and then another to strike the third right in the chest. The trooper dropped lifelessly to the floor. 

The panic Glailen had locked away now pushed back against its cage. Fear and anger smashed together inside the Sith. Letting out a defiant howl, Glailen charged his attackers. They wore enclosed helmets that hid their faces – a fact that meant Glailen would have to hit hard – but the Sith could feel their shock as he was suddenly among them. 

He focused on the group on the right, moving in close. Lightsaber flashing, he sliced through the battledroid’s blaster then reversed the movement to cut the droid in half at the waist. Grabbing one of the arms, Glailen spun the droid and threw it at the group on the left. At the moment his hand released the droid he used the Force to increase the ferocity of the throw. The battledroid struck its companion, the impact smashing the second against the wall behind it. The Force push flung the two troopers against the wall as well, stunning them for precious moments. Glailen could only sense the results as he had spun to face his other foes before the droids had collided. It was good that he had for a blaster was leveled at his chest and its owner was about to squeeze the trigger. Glailen crouched down just in time as a bolt flew over his head. The trooper wouldn’t get the chance to fire a second round as Glailen’s lightsaber sliced through his blaster an instant before the Sith jabbed his elbow into the trooper’s gut. Glailen wasted no time before using his right hand to vault over the doubled-over trooper. As he did so he angled his left leg as it swung down to strike the blaster of the second trooper just as it discharged. Glailen used the momentum to spin around and thrust out his right leg in a straight kick that knocked the trooper against the wall behind them. Without looking he used the Force to pull the blaster from the third trooper, causing them to stumble closer, while at the same time deactivating his lightsaber and delivering a hammering blow to the helmet of the second trooper. Grabbing the helmet of the second trooper, Glailen spun, throwing them to the floor, before leaping up and dropping a heavy punch onto the third trooper that knocked them to the ground. 

Glailen turned his attention to the first trooper who was getting to his feet but still bent over. More importantly the two troopers on the other side of the hall were recovered. Glailen leapt forward, using the injured trooper as a springboard as he kicked down on their helmet and knocked them back to the floor. The Sith flew across the hall to land in front of a trooper. He could feel the panic and fear within them and he wouldn’t give them any time to recover. They raised their blaster but Glailen’s lightsaber flashed and the weapon was cut in half. An instant later and the Sith push-kicked the trooper sending them flying back against the wall. Deactivating his lightsaber, Glailen threw the metal cylinder at the second trooper. It struck their helmet with enough force to daze them. At the same time Glailen rushed the first trooper, one hand leading to take hold of their helmet and smashed their head against the wall with as much strength as he could. The trooper was still sliding down to the floor when Glailen turned his attention to the second – and final – trooper. He moved in quick but not quick enough as the trooper fired off a round. With the Force guiding him, Glailen knew where the bolt would go and dodged around it; the next instant he was in front of the trooper. He took hold of their blaster while at the same time slamming an elbow into their helmet. The trooper was stunned for a second and that was all the time Glailen needed to twist the weapon free of its owner’s grip. Glailen then struck the trooper in their helmet once more with the butt of the blaster. They were rocked back but, to Glailen’s surprise, kept up the fight by throwing a punch. It was a desperate strike, one easily punished. Glailen caught the arm, trapping it between his own, locked the joint and turned, dragging the trooper front first to the floor. He then applied pressure and twisted the arm. There was a sickening snap. Then there was screaming. 

Glailen rose to his feet leaving the trooper to cradle his broken arm. He tossed the blaster out of reach. A second later his lightsaber returned to his waiting hand. Calming his breathing, Glailen turned to the elevator. Vette surveyed the scene with wide eyes though her mouth was a thin shut line. NR-O2 looked as unimpressed as a droid without any detailed facial features could. 

“Lethal force would have been more efficient.” In response Glailen ignited his lightsaber. NR-O2 offered no further comments. 

“Move.”

Following his own order, Glailen began down the hallway though he moved at a jog to give himself time to gather after the fight and prepare for the next. He didn’t have long to wait. At the end of the hall he took a right turn and there, at the end of the new hallway, he spotted a set of large doors behind which he knew was the bridge. Before he could reach it, however, he had half a dozen battledroids to contend with. They spotted him the same time he saw them; they raised their blasters and began firing. Glailen raised his lightsaber and charged.

Bolts whipped past Glailen as he rushed along the hall. He zigzagged when he could to throw off the droids’ aim, other times he used his lightsaber to deflect shots that would have hit their mark. One such bolt struck the leg of one of the droids on the left side – a lucky occurrence as Glailen hadn’t intended anything other than protecting himself – and the next instant the Sith was upon them. He ran his lightsaber through the first droid before push kicking it into the battledroid behind it sending both colliding with the blast doors. Glailen then dropped to a crouch as the two droids on his left began firing at him. At the same time he swept his blade to the right, cutting through the legs of the droid on that side. Before it could hit the floor he reversed the sweep of his lightsaber to sever the droid’s head from its body. Moving quickly, Glailen took a step toward the droids still standing and leapt into a low flip, his weapon carving a path through the droid that had taken a blaster bolt to its leg, and landed before one battledroid. His lightsaber flashed, cutting through the droid’s arms before it could react to his presence. The other droid directed its blaster and fired off several rounds but not before Glailen grabbed the armless droid before him and used it as a shield. The bolts hammered into the droid and it went limp at the same moment Glailen sidestepped to the left and threw his lightsaber to impale the other droid before it could adjust its aim. A second was all Glailen had before a bolt shot past his face, missing his head by an inch. Without thinking or looking for the shooter, he dropped into a roll. When he came out of it he was crouched with a blaster raised to his shoulder from which he fired two rounds. The first struck the droid pinned against the blast doors by the first droid of the group to fall; the second bolt was for good measure. 

Slowly Glailen rose to his feet with eyes searching for further movement. There was none save for a few wayward sparks. Satisfied, he tossed the blaster aside and summoned his lightsaber to his hand. He glanced back at the blaster burn on the wall that marked the final destination of the bolt that had nearly killed him. Only dumb luck had spared his life that time. _And what would my new master think of me willingly discarding my lightsaber not once but twice_? The question struck Glailen as not so important until he made an amendment; _what would my teacher think?_

Pushing the question aside, Glailen surveyed the problem before him. Getting past the blast doors would not be easy. He walked over to a panel and drove his lightsaber through it almost to the hilt before dragging it down. Once he was satisfied the power cables were cut he threw his weapon at the back-up power box as he had before. Unlike before, however, it wouldn’t be so easy. The bridge doors had a secondary back-up power circuit and that was located on the other side. It would take a few moments for it to kick in and in that time Glailen needed to get the doors open. 

Glailen returned his lightsaber to his belt as he faced the obstacle in question. He relaxed his muscles and breathed deep. Closing his eyes he concentrated on his connection to the Force; taking hold of it and then pulling. Power was needed to see the task done and power was what he would have from the Force. When he had reached as deep into the Force as he dared, Glailen’s eyes opened and his hands shot out grasping at the air to the naked eye but in truth he held tight to the doors before him. Blocking out everything else, Glailen began slowly widening the space between his hands. In response the doors shook with tension. Then they began to part. A narrow gap appeared but stubbornly refused to grow. Gritting his teeth, Glailen commanded the Force to obey his will. He demanded that the doors be thrown open. It felt like he was trying to pull apart the doors with his bare hands but it didn’t matter. He had to succeed. There was no alternative. 

Glailen roared, throwing his arms wide and with them the doors slid back into the walls. 

The next thing he knew was blaster fire surrounding him.                                                           

 

* * *

 

Vette was becoming intimately familiar with her hate for running, made worse by the fact Glailen liked to run so far ahead that she was forced to push hard to keep up. Such was what she was doing now as she approached the Sith from behind. He was just standing there with his hands reaching out to the blast doors in front of him as though he wanted to strangle the inanimate objects for being in his way. _Heh, same_ , thought Vette as she recalled having similar urges while caged on Korriban. But as Vette drew closer she realized the doors were shaking and slowly being pulled apart. Realization dawned and Vette was wondering if she should offer encouragement or if speaking would ruin Glailen’s concentration – then the doors flew apart to reveal the bridge controlling the ship on the other side. It also allowed the two dozen or so Imperial troopers on the other side to get clear shots at Glailen. 

Before Vette could shout any sort of warning the blaster fire began with burning blasts streaking past the exposed Sith. Glailen was lucky as the first few shots were ill-aimed, which gave him time to start reacting as he ducked and slid to the left before turning his body and back-flipping to land on the right side of the doorway, out of sight of the troopers. Vette was the next available target as she herself realized when the blaster bolts kept coming. Her escape was far less graceful as she dived to the floor on the left and crawled over to the doorway, sitting up against the door frame. Now that she was out of the way that left only one target and Vette watched NR-O2 with interest. If the droid were destroyed or at least suffered damage, well, Vette was of the opinion she’d earned some happiness at this point. She was to be disappointed – and annoyed – as the droid waddled over to her side without receiving so much as a scratch. As expected the droid paid her no mind, turning its optics to Glailen. 

“We mustn’t waste time here.” Glailen spared NR-O2 a look but said nothing as he returned his focus to the door. Occasionally a couple of blaster bolts would shoot past though the three of them offered no target. Even Vette could figure out the guards on the bridge were buying time for additional security to arrive. That would leave the three of them trapped and easy to overwhelm. They had to make a move before then but what could they do? Vette kept her gaze trained on Glailen. If anything was to happen he would have to lead the way. She hoped her eyes didn’t look overly pleading, but if they did could she really be blamed? Suddenly Glailen straightened and unhooked his lightsaber from his belt. He looked at her and she saw his resolve. 

“I’ll go in first, wait five seconds then follow, keep slow and stay low. Aim for the shooters while I keep their attention on me. The sooner I reach the captain the sooner I can convince him to cooperate.” Instructions delivered, he looked away while Vette’s mind worked. Glailen was just going to rush them. Admittedly Vette couldn’t think of a better option but she had thought – hoped – that Glailen would come up with something better than suicide. Vette wanted to say something, protest a stupid plan and insist that there must be a better option. She stopped when she really looked at Glailen’s expression. The grim look he had spoke of reluctance to go through with a decision. He knew what he had to do but also understood with reason the chances they had of succeeding. That didn’t mean he could back down. _It’s more than that_ , thought Vette as she remembered back to the elevator, how Glailen reacted when one of the troopers was hit by a stray bolt. She thought of how he’d ordered her to set her blasters to stun. _He doesn’t want to hurt Imperials. He doesn’t want to kill his own._ Vette had no love for the Empire and with good reason but she could respect Glailen’s position. She could understand the turmoil he must have been dealing with. _But there’s nothing else to be done and he knows it. He also knows there’s no going back so he’s doing the best that he can._ And, Vette realized, she wanted to help him somehow. 

“You can do this.” The statement took Glailen by surprise by the way he looked back at Vette with his lips parted as though he couldn’t remember what he was going to say. Vette looked back not really sure of what to expect but saw as he collected himself. Saw as his resolve took on a new shape. Not of someone dragging their feet but instead ready to march with purpose. 

“Thank you.” 

In an instant Glailen activated his lightsaber and rushed through the doorway. Blaster fire began a second later. Bolts flew through the opening terrifying Vette as she thought of putting herself in their path. She blew out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding in. Meeting Glailen’s eyes had been difficult, especially as she tried to show confidence that he could succeed. A confidence she would be lying if she were to say she felt unwaveringly. Had she in fact convinced Glailen to run off and die? The sound of blasters discharging could still be heard but far fewer bolts shot through the doorway. Wherever Glailen was he apparently had made progress. _Or are all those Imps with their big guns just vaporizing his corpse to make sure there’s nothing left?_ Vette swallowed hard at the thought and tried to steady her breathing. Five seconds had to be almost up. She couldn’t just run away, right? No, that ship had long since flown off. Five seconds had to be up by now. 

“The time given you by Apprentice Glailen is up.” Of course NR-O2 was there to confirm her fears. She was about to go die and it took everything she had to accept that. Strange, then, that she had anything left to keep from taking the damn droid with her. 

“Shut it!” growled Vette before ducking her head and running onto the bridge. 

Her eyes tried to take in everything at once. The first thing she settled on was Glailen, somehow still alive and just then reaching a short flight of stairs. Lightsaber a dizzying blur of motion, he ducked, dodged and spun in an effort to not only survive but keep moving forward. With inhuman speed he was able to keep up with the threats surrounding him. How he was able to keep his nerve with a room full of soldiers shooting at him just reminded Vette that she never wanted to get on his bad side. If they survived, of course. 

 _Don’t get distracted, Vette!_  

Vette tore her eyes away from Glailen to survey how best she could help. To either side there were elevated platforms upon which all the important equipment was and so too were most of the troopers. Several had been knocked down on the right but were regaining their feet. Vette’s first thought was to make sure they stayed down but she caught movement on the left and looked in time to see a couple of troopers had noticed her arrival. They took aim at her. Without thinking she dived to the side, escaping their initial volley, and fired rapidly with her own blasters. It wasn’t clean but she managed to take down both targets. As she got to her feet she fired at a trooper who had been turning towards her. She then began crouch running forward whilst taking shots at the troopers recovering on the right. One went down. Another. By then she had done too much to be ignored. 

Ice coated Vette’s heart as she watched half a dozen troopers swing their blasters in her direction. She broke into a sprint, firing wildly and hoping to hit something. Ahead was a computer terminal that offered the only cover available. Bolts whipped past her exposed flesh. She screamed as she dived toward the terminal. Somehow she landed without a scratch and once there she made herself as small as possible. The troopers didn’t stop shooting at her. The computer was being ravaged by bolts. A cacophony of sound enveloped Vette; somewhere in the madness she was screaming. She tried to fire back but couldn’t move without something sparking too close for comfort.

She was stuck.

She was going to die.

Something wet was rolling down Vette’s face. It wasn’t blood, just tears. Just tears. _Mom, I’m so sorry. I tried to find you – I tried to live! I tried…_

The shooting stopped. The sudden lack of deafening blasts was a shock too great for Vette to understand it right away. Slowly she found the courage to peek over the top of what remained of the terminal. Her eyes widened.                                                        

* * *

 

 

Using the ship’s captain – Orvik was his name – as a shield, and keeping his lightsaber at the man’s neck, was the easiest way Glailen could think of to stop the shooting. As he looked past Orvik’s shoulder, however, he didn’t enjoy having so many blaster rifles pointed at him. Still, it was better than having them shooting at him. That had not been fun. His eyes shifted from one trooper to the next, sensing their anger and fear; gauging their willingness to start firing again. They all seemed interested in keeping their commanding officer from coming to harm and that worked in Glailen’s favour. 

“Drop your weapons!” Glailen’s command filled the bridge. No one rushed to obey, he noted, but neither did they take it upon themselves to resume firing. 

“Do it,” ordered the captain after a tense moment and that was enough to get everyone to, grudgingly, place their weapons on the floor. Glailen kept his hold on the officer until he was certain every blaster, big and small, had been dropped. He then pulled his lightsaber away and shoved Orvik forward but as the captain turned to face him, Glailen leveled his weapon at the other man’s chest. It was crucial that everyone still believed their captain was in danger. 

Glailen looked past the crew immediately in front of him to better study the situation. Several troopers were down, likely due to Vette’s efforts, but the twi’lek had been pinned behind a computer by too many troopers for her to handle. If Glailen had taken a few seconds longer then it was likely she wouldn’t have made it. He didn’t dwell on that fact as he saw NR-O2 making its way through the bridge towards him. While waiting on the droid, Glailen’s eyes flicked to where Lieutenant Sylas stood on his left. At first glance she looked as she had when they met earlier but for the slightest crease in her brow – the only outward indicator of the rage inside her. Glailen felt no fear from her, only anger. She was justified in it he knew. The Sith looked away as NR-O2 reached the top of the stairs. 

“Congratulations, my Lord, the bridge is secure.” 

“Alert the medical teams. I want everyone seen to,” ordered Glailen, his tone leaving no room for discussion. 

“Right away, my Lord.” NR-O2 offered no comment or even hesitation, apparently truly satisfied with the results Glailen had achieved. 

“I appreciate that,” said Captain Orvik. Glailen turned his full attention to the captain, lowering his lightsaber as he took a couple of steps closer. 

“You disobeyed the Grand Moff’s orders.” The statement caused Orvik to flinch but he held his ground, even giving an exasperated shake of his head. 

“Of course that’s what this is about. Listen, we are not a combat vessel. It’s not a good idea for us to get into a fight – certainly not by ourselves.” 

“You’re not alone. I’m here,” replied the Sith. Orvik gave him an incredulous look. 

“It’s a death sentence!” he declared but Glailen was already slowly shaking his head. 

“Not guaranteed. Returning to Dromund Kaas empty-handed, however, is.” This time Glailen’s words seemed to reach the captain for Orvik hesitated. Glailen seized on the opportunity. 

“It’s treason and that’s a death sentence for you at the very least but probably for your first mate, maybe every officer on this ship. Although, we are talking about the Butcher of Coruscant.” Referring to Kilran’s infamous name had a noticeable effect on the room. Crew members shifted nervously, looking to their captain to have the solution. Orvik no doubt felt the pressure of those stares but kept his composure. Still, he said nothing and Glailen continued. 

“It’s quite possible everyone on board will be executed as an example to the entire Empire. No one goes against an order from the Grand Moff.” 

“I’m responsible for this crew,” said Orvik, almost in defeat. Glailen sympathized with the man and the struggle he was dealing with. That didn’t mean the problem was going away. 

“I understand that. If I could do this without your help I would, but I can’t.” Sensing the conversation shifting in his favour, Glailen deactivated his lightsaber and even risked placing a hand on the captain’s shoulder. 

“Give me an opening,” he continued, “and I’ll take care of the hard part.” 

Orvik deflated from Glailen’s words, shoulders slumping. It worried Glailen; not only did he need the captain to agree, he needed him to have the strength to lead. What more could he say though? He needed to trust that Orvik, at his core, was a man of the Empire. In answer to Glailen’s faith, Orvik straightened, finding confidence in his thoughts, and turned a circle. He met the eyes of everyone on the bridge, those under his command. Finally his gaze returned to Glailen and the Sith could see the determination behind them.

“Very well, we’ll do things your way.” Before Glailen could respond, Orvik was turning away and walking over to a man standing behind a console. 

“Ensign, do we have the coordinates?” 

“Yes, sir. It’s not far, sir,” responded the man in nervous but professional tones.

“Then get us there.” The bridge came alive with activity then as though time had been frozen and suddenly started up again. Looking around, Glailen almost felt like he had been forgotten but for the occasional stare he received. It made sense, he was Sith after all and his presence would make people nervous. Other than that, he was also the reason the Black Talon may not survive the next couple of hours. That was something he and everyone else had to work with.

Before long Glailen’s attention returned to where Orvik stood, straight and unyielding, offering unspoken strength to the crew who saw him. At that moment he was having whispered words with Lieutenant Sylas. The lieutenant was working on a datapad at the same time. Somehow Glailen knew she was taking stock of the damage caused by his rampage through the ship. After a few moments, Sylas caught Glailen watching them. She excused herself from the captain and began walking towards Glailen, though he could see she intended to pass him without a word. Swallowing hard, Glailen interposed himself in the lieutenant’s path, forcing her to stop abruptly. 

“What was his name? The trooper who died.” The lieutenant stared at him. Not quite glaring but certainly not friendly either. He couldn’t blame her.

“Why do you care, my Lord?” passionless words that managed to bite. An effective way of communicating to a superior. Under different circumstances Glailen would have been impressed enough to say so. At the moment he wanted one thing.  
“I care,” stated Glailen firmly. Sylas’ eyes narrowed with suspicion. She must have seen something in Glailen’s expression for she relented – or perhaps she wasn’t truly ready to refuse a request from a Sith. 

“Private Tor Askor. Showed himself to be a first-rate soldier in the three months I knew him but he often requested transfer to a more ‘exciting’ posting. Captain Orvik recently agreed.” Lieutenant Sylas spoke bluntly and her words struck Glailen as such. The muscles of his jaw strained as he pressed his mouth closed, afraid of what he would say otherwise. Sylas must have seen him struggling as she paused but whether it was out of pity or to what him squirm, Glailen couldn’t say. 

“The run to Dromund Kaas,” resumed the lieutenant, “was to be his final mission aboard the Black Talon.” Glailen found he had to look away, unable to meet Sylas’ judging gaze anymore. 

“Is that all, my Lord?” 

“Yes. That’s all.” 

Lieutenant Sylas went about her business leaving Glailen with his thoughts. He wasn’t alone for long as Vette joined him, however one look at the Sith and she opted not to say anything. Glailen was glad as he was not in the mood for talking. Still, it was good to have someone close whom he felt he could trust. 

 _Enough with the self-pity, Glailen. Focus on ensuring Private Askor – and whoever comes next – didn’t die for nothing. Get the job done._ Regulating his breathing, Glailen knelt on the floor to meditate. He would not fail. 

Deep in meditation, Glailen lost sense of time. Every sound and movement around him was blocked out. His only purpose was in preparing for the coming battle as a warrior should. Intune with the Force, Glailen knew when the ensign was going to speak before he opened his mouth.

“Coming out of lightspeed – now.” 

The Imperial ship dropped out of lightspeed and that was when Glailen opened his eyes. He quickly got to his feet as the tension on the bridge reached its peak. Along with everyone else, he looked out into the depths of space to get an idea of what they faced. A vessel floated in the distance and grew larger as the Black Talon rushed closer to take advantage of its surprise appearance. He walked closer to the transparisteel as though a few meters would allow him to make out important details. 

It didn’t take long for someone on the other ship to look out a window. 

“Republic cruiser spotted. It’s opening fire on us!” A second later large streaks of energy sped past the Black Talon. Whoever was operating the weapons on the other ship had either panicked and fired too soon or they were giving off warning shots. With the Republic it was an even bet either way. There was no retreat though; the Black Talon could only go forward. 

“Then fire back,” ordered Captain Orvik, “and keep us moving. Don’t give them an easy target.” Glailen watched with satisfaction as the armament aboard the Black Talon – limited though it was – took up a barrage on the enemy vessel. Moments later the Talon was rocked, indicating the Republic was ready to fight. Orvik looked over at his Sith passenger.

“My Lord?” prompted the captain. Glailen shared a look with Orvik and Sylas before nodding agreement. He began to turn away. 

“Sir, we’re being hailed!” called the ensign. Glailen paused and turned back.

“It’s a Republic signal,” the ensign continued, “but it’s not from the Brentaal Star.”

“Put it through, Ensign,” replied Captain Orvik, his tone indicating it was of no real concern. Seconds later a holoimage appeared of a woman in her later years. Glailen’s eyes widened and he found himself walking closer to where the image hovered. She was beautiful, yes, but what drew Glailen was how she held herself. Confidence, wisdom, power, all these things radiated from her and the respect her presence commanded. It was clear to Glailen that he was looking at a Jedi but no ordinary one. A master perhaps? Yes, she had to be. 

“Greetings, I am Satele Shan, Grand Master of the Jedi Order.” Glailen felt his mouth go dry. Before him was the pinnacle of Jedi strength and he a lowly apprentice. It was certainly an interesting day. 

“The Brentaal Star and those aboard it are under my protection,” she continued, “I am offering you this opportunity to stand down and leave before further blood is spilled.” 

“Ensign, where is this signal coming from?” asked Captain Orvik, keeping the alarm from his voice. If they were about to be the victims of an ambush then their gamble would be coming to a quick conclusion. The ensign did a quick once over of their station before responding. 

“As best I can see the ship is an hour away…maybe less.” Orvik nodded, more to himself than anything, before returning his attention to the daunting Jedi image. 

“It looks like you’re not in a position to make requests, Master Shan.” Satele looked patiently upon Orvik as though he were an unruly child. 

“I am on my way with six Republic cruisers. We just finished crippling several Imperial Star Destroyers. This is not a fight you want.” 

“Perhaps not,” said Glailen, entering the conversation, “but it is one we must have – that is, if you get here in time.” Those Jedi eyes locked on Glailen and he felt himself being scrutinized more intensely than he had ever been on Korriban. He felt almost nervous that he wouldn’t measure up. It was ridiculous. She was the enemy and represented everything he hated. Why should he care whether she _approved_ of him or not? 

“Sith.” A one word statement that spoke volumes. There was no malice behind the word as Glailen would have expected. Merely an acknowledgement that a new piece had entered the game. Glailen nodded his head in greeting. 

“The Brentaal Star is more than capable of lasting long enough for our arrival. For the sakes of yourselves and those aboard your vessel, stand down. Leave. Do you really want to throw your lives away?” It didn’t take long for Glailen to think over what Satele had to say. It was, after all, something he had already needed to come to terms with. 

“I wouldn’t back down even if we could, Grand Master. Traitors must answer for their crimes.” Shan’s eyes narrowed slightly, the first and only indication of her displeasure. 

“If that is your decision then may the Force forgive you.” The transmission ended. Glailen spun around and marched with a new sense of urgency. 

“I’m going but get us closer,” he called to Orvik, 

“Good luck over there,” responded the captain.

                                                            

* * *

 

Vette leaned against a terminal to keep her balance as the ship shuddered from another hit. At least the shields were holding. She assumed they were holding, anyway. No one was screaming that the hull had been breached so that was good. But really, being in this situation didn’t land anywhere on her _good things_ graph. Yet here she was hoping that an Imperial cargo ship and its crew could outclass and beat a Republic cruiser. Not something she expected a week ago. The difference a few days could make in one’s life was crazy. 

She caught sight of Glailen walking towards her. It was odd, the worry that came over her, like when her mom would catch her doing something she wasn’t supposed to. This was quite a bit more serious, of course. Glailen was going to tell her it was time to fly through space, dodging fire from both ships, and board a hostile vessel. Yeah, right, she was looking forward to that. At least over there she wouldn’t have to keep her blasters on stun. Realizing she was still holding onto the terminal, Vetter pushed away to straighten up, clearing her throat at the same time. 

“Guess we’re going over there next?” she asked and fully expecting a grim nod in response. To her surprise, however, Glailen was shaking his head. 

“I’m going over. You’re staying here.” 

“What? Think I can’t handle a little life or death danger?” Vette hoped she managed to hide the immense relief she felt by focusing on all the confusion instead. 

“We don’t have a lot of time. I’ll have to move fast and can’t risk losing you in that mess.” Practical and considerate, the statement caught Vette off-guard. Part of her wanted to thank Glailen for not being crazy enough to drag her along…but part of her also didn’t feel right letting him go alone. Still, she couldn’t argue with his reasoning. _Maybe I really did make a good choice sticking with him._  

“Besides,” continued Glailen, looking back at the Talon’s commanding officers, “I need someone here to make sure the ship doesn’t leave without me.” Suddenly Vette was no longer sure she wanted to stay behind. If things turned sour over here then how was she supposed to keep things together? Even so, she had to admit she’d rather be in her position than Glailen’s.

“You’re the boss, boss,” agreed Vette with a mock salute. Glailen studied her a moment before marching past without another word. Vette bit her lip as her thoughts raced. She couldn’t leave things at that. 

“Hey,” Vette called as she whipped around. The Sith stopped and turned to her. 

“Don’t die over there, yeah? I don’t want to have to explain to your boss why you missed your meeting.” A moment passed before Glailen nodded with meaning and left. Vette watched him until he disappeared from sight then turned to the battle unfolding before her. She looked around and settled for standing in place, arms crossed, pretending not to be at all worried about whether or not she would get a last meal.                                                          

* * *

 

 

The doors to the lift slid open revealing the landing bay for the Black Talon. A few shuttles occupied the hanger but Glailen guessed the one that would carry him had the Imperial troopers stationed by it. As he moved towards the shuttle a trio of the troopers broke off to meet with him. One bore the marks of a sergeant and it was this one who took the lead. 

“My Lord, I’m Sergeant Waltz, 133rd Marines. Captain Orvik is sending my squad over with you to hold the landing bay until you return. You get the package and we’ll make sure you have a ride home.” Glailen was pleasantly surprised that the captain had taken the initiative to ensure Glailen didn’t go alone. If he were being honest, Glailen didn’t think the Black Talon had any bodies it could spare but he wouldn’t argue with something that increased his chances of success. 

“Good to hear it, Sergeant. Let’s get to it.” The group marched over to the shuttle and boarded it two at a time. As the six marines took their seats, Glailen went up to the hatch connecting to the cockpit. Two pilots sat inside preparing for launch. So focused on their tasks were the pilots that they didn’t notice a Sith watching over them. It was only when the shuttle began to lift off did they finally realize they weren’t alone but they recovered quickly. Glailen liked that. Working with professionals was what he wanted. 

Flying out into the void of space, the shuttle’s journey nearly ended right away as it barely avoided a blast that struck the Talon’s shields. The lead pilot didn’t stop to mention their good luck but instead immediately shifted into evasive action as the second pilot relayed relevant information. They were moving fast but they still had a fair distance to cover before they reached the Brentaal Star. Glailen knew there was little he could do but he could keep an eye out for threats. Infused with the Force, his senses were sharper than those of a regular person. Still, his life and that of the marines were in the hands of the pilots. They were soldiers one and all, however, and trusting others to do their jobs was part of the life. 

Through the front viewport Glailen could make out the battle taking place and not just by the two large ships. Here and there he saw smaller vessels speeding along, some engaged with each other. It made sense that the Brentaal Star would carry fighters but Glailen had hoped they were all destroyed during the previous confrontation the Republic cruiser had been in. As things were, he considered it lucky that the Black Talon had a contingent of its own fighters at all. Whichever side won the dogfighting would gain the clear advantage – unless the winning side lost so much that it no longer posed a real threat. That wasn’t Glailen’s concern and in fact would likely have little impact on how things ultimately played out. If he could board the Brentaal Star then he could do some real damage if necessary. The Sith’s hand drifted to his lightsaber at the thought. Of course, everything was secondary to the capture of the general. 

“Those aren’t fighters.” Blinking, Glailen realized he had become distracted by his thoughts. The comment by one of the pilots pulled him back just in time to notice what they were referring to. A couple of ships larger than fighters shot pass the Imperial shuttle. It didn’t take long for everyone to come to the same conclusion on what they’d seen. Republic shuttles were on their way to the Black Talon. 

“Looks like the Republic had the same idea.” 

“Alert the Black Talon,” ordered Glailen. 

“Yes, Sir.” It was likely the Talon’s sensors would pick up the enemy vessels but it didn’t hurt to be safe. On the topic of safety, Glailen’s thoughts returned to how his concentration had drifted earlier. Such a lapse could easily prove fatal and Glailen wanted to scold himself for it, though he was worried the cause was the deep exhaustion he was struggling to hold back. Once he was moving and fighting he would be able to stay alert or so he hoped. 

As they got close to the Brentaal Star, Glailen spotted the entrance to their hanger. One that was likely close to empty with all their fighters deployed. 

“There! Get us in there!” On Glailen’s order the pilot shifted the direction of the shuttle to make a direct approach for the opening. Once they landed it would be up to the marines and their accompanying Sith to do the rest. Glailen knew he was ready and he could sense the same could be said about the marines as he turned to join them in the carriage. 

Glailen stood among the seated marines, holding onto one of the straps descending from the roof to aid in balance. The shuttle rocked and lurched as it made its approach. Guns would be placed close to the hanger entrance to defend against the exact thing the shuttle was doing. Red light bathed the interior and everyone braced themselves against any sudden impacts. Tense seconds passed. Glailen could sense the worry among the marines but they were disciplined enough to appear calm and collected. Their faith in the pilots would be rewarded as well as the red light vanished and was replaced with green. 

Suddenly everyone was on their feet and facing the back hatch. Weapons were poised at the ready as Sergeant Waltz faced his squad. 

“Weapons free, people!” he called just before hitting the switch to open the hatch. 

Glailen leapt through the hatch, igniting his lightsaber as he went, and landed at the bottom of the ramp. Blaster fire eagerly greeted him and he welcomed it. As he hoped the Republic forces focused their attack at the Sith appearing before them instead of at anyone else who came out of the shuttle. The marines followed quickly and could easily begin picking off the opposition that had carelessly given away their positions. Glailen held his ground, deflecting any bolts that came too close until he saw the marines were settled into their own cover; he then burst into motion. With great speed he struck for the enemy to his right. They had a makeshift barricade for defense but it proved ineffective against a Sith who could leap over it without much effort.

The Sith descended upon the Republic soldiers with his weapon striking relentless and precise. There was no need for him to hold back here and he had no issue with killing the enemies of the Empire. With great satisfaction Glailen impaled a soldier on his lightsaber but immediately retracted the weapon in order to cross-slash another on his left. He spun with the slash to face another trooper who stood further away and aware of the dire threat. Blaster bolts flew dangerously close to Glailen but he managed to deflect anything that would have hit their mark. As he did so he sprinted closer too quickly for the soldier to properly react. The Republic trooper attempted to back pedal but tripped over himself in his haste. He hadn’t even hit the floor before Glailen’s blade carved across his chest. Looking around at the skirmish – one already won with the marines’ efforts – the thought that he was becoming at least decent at blaster deflection crossed Glailen’s mind. There would be time for further reflection later though, at the moment Glailen looked for Waltz and found the man easily enough. 

“Keep your squad safe, Sergeant,” he called to the marine. 

“I will and don’t worry, we’ll still be here when you get back.” Nodding acceptance, Glailen got his bearings and headed off in search of a lift. When he caught sight of one he sprinted towards it. Time was, as it always seemed to be, against him. 

Approaching the lift, Glailen became aware of a threat through the Force. He threw out a hand even as the doors to the lift opened. The Force blast threw the four Republic soldiers inside back to collide with the walls and each other, stunning and confusing them. An instant later and Glailen was in the elevator and slamming a fist into the control panel. Silent doors slid shut locking the five occupants of the lift inside. The screams that followed were short lived.                                                         

* * *

 

 

Did Vette have a nervous tick? Yes, she readily admitted it. However, at the moment, if she were honest, she would have to say she had three. Tapping a foot, chewing on a thumb and drumming the fingers of her other hand all helped her deal with the stress pushing against her skull. It probably didn’t help that she was standing on the bridge of the Black Talon and therefore heard whenever something bad was happening like the shields losing power or Republic shuttles landing in the hanger. At the same time she couldn’t imagine walking away from everything she was seeing. Like everyone else who ever had access to holovids, she had watched her share of action flicks but now she was living one. Whether she was on the bridge or not had no bearing on if the Talon was destroyed and her along with it, so why not take in the view? 

“Captain, welcome party efforts have failed, I’m getting reports of Republic commandos pushing through the ship!” Vette squeezed her eyes shut. Of course, if the Republic took control of the Black Talon then things would be different. Would they kill everyone on board? Not likely, just whoever fought back. That raised its own question; should she fight back? She certainly didn’t mind the Empire being embarrassed by the Republic stealing one of their ships but did she owe it to Glailen to make sure that didn’t happen? Gingerly Vette opened her eyes. _He did tell me to make sure he had a ship to come back to._  

“Lieutenant Sylas,” intoned Orvik, “care to inform our guests that we are not accepting visitors at this time?” 

“Gladly, Sir.” As the lieutenant made a sharp turn around, Vette wondered at how the two Imperial officers were able to remain so calm, even nonchalant, given the situation. 

 _They’re clearly made for this sort of thing – unlike me. That’s fine. Let them handle everything and I’ll continue pretending I belong here. They absolutely do not need my help._ _I would just get in the way. Let’s face it, I would probably just die some dumb, obvious death. They’re professionals and they do not need me cramping their style._

_Obviously._

Vette let out a defeated groan.

“Hold up,” she called, “I’m coming too.” Lieutenant Sylas stopped and stared back at Vette with those ever disapproving eyes that probably didn’t remember what it was like to be happy. Or less judgey. Vette swallowed hard but held her ground. 

“Maybe you should stay here and make sure we don’t double-cross your Sith. I’m sure he wouldn’t be pleased to find we got his twi’lek damaged.” Vette bristled at the comment and all it implied. Suddenly she forgot all about her fear and apprehension, glaring back at the Imp officer. 

“Don’t give me that; you need help and you know it!” Vette wasn’t afraid of raising her voice or letting the other woman know how angry she was but neither seemed to impress Sylas at all. 

“Not going to hap–” 

“Take her with you, Lieutenant,” cut in Orvik from where he watched the battle. Both women looked at the captain in surprise – or, in Sylas’ case, a close approximation of it. The lieutenant looked about to protest but Orvik spoke over her.

“This is not a day for being picky with our recruitment criteria. All hands on deck.” Sylas’ expression well and truly soured, showing the most emotion Vette had seen from her. For a moment Vette thinks the argument isn’t over as Sylas stares at Orvik but finally she turns her gaze to Vette and it’s apparent she’s relented. For some reason Vette can’t get excited over winning an argument to go risk her life.

“Keep up or get left behind,” commanded the lieutenant. 

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled Vette, “I know the drill.”                                                            

* * *

 

 

With the Force at his command, Glailen was able to move with great speed through the halls of the Republic cruiser. Having taken the lift as high as it would go he now searched for the bridge. It was the likeliest place he could think of to begin his search, for even if his target wasn’t there he could still cause a great deal of damage. Actually finding what he was looking for wasn’t an easy task though. He considered interrogating one of the ship’s crew but it could take precious time and allow security to close in on him. As things were he dispatched anyone he came upon as quickly as he could; at times speeding past Pubs and cutting them down before they knew he was there. Not all of his encounters went so well, however, and required more attention. There remained an inability for the Republic to organize a response to him though, and not just due to the speed he moved through the halls. With the battle raging it was difficult for information to be coordinated and from what Glailen could see the ship had already sustained a great deal of damage that was not due to the Black Talon. 

After a few turns, Glailen came upon a rectangular room. It wasn’t the bridge but a quick look around and he was convinced it was integral to the ship’s operation. A command center of sorts. There were many computers with crew stationed at them, receiving and relaying information through headsets. Naturally, in such an important room, there were guards positioned throughout. It didn’t take long for one to notice the intruder in their midst and begin to alert their fellows. Glailen didn’t spend more than a couple of seconds surveying the room before he was moving again, this time to eliminate the threats. Blaster fire rang through the room, screams followed quickly as the technicians began abandoning their stations. Glailen moved from one target to the next with quick efficiency. His blade was indiscriminate, striking down those who were armed and those who weren’t, though the guards were what he aimed for. Anyone who got in his way needed to be removed, however, before they could slow him down and if it created chaos in the process that only worked to his advantage. 

A guard was firing hastily aimed shots at Glailen who was able to zigzag across the space between them to cut down the soldier. To his left, a couple meters away, was another guard being more patient with his shot but between them and Glailen was a technician who hadn’t run for the doors. As Glailen turned towards them they threw up their hands in surrender but the Sith’s lightsaber was already moving, cutting through their fragile flesh. Glailen moved around the falling body to make for his true target. It was at that moment the guard fired and instinctively Glailen blocked the bolt. By luck it flew back at the soldier, striking them in the abdomen. With that trooper no longer a threat, Glailen spun to his left in search of his next victim. At the far end of the room was a computer terminal – the biggest in the room – being operated by a large mon calamari. They weren’t a technician by the armour they wore but were ignoring the fighting even so. Perhaps confident the four remaining guards would be enough to stop Glailen. If so, they were mistaken. As Glailen shot forward he started to hear the mon calamari speaking with someone. 

“We’ve taken too much damage,” he was saying as Glailen ran his lightsaber through a guard, “our only hope is for reinforcements to arrive in time. The escape pods should buy you enough time.” 

Another guard fell to a deflected bolt as Glailen rolled across the floor and severed the leg of the third. When the soldier hit the floor Glailen slashed his blade along their chest. Still the mon calamari did not turn to the fighting though he surely could hear the sound of his comrades dying. Whoever they were speaking with must have been quite important. 

“But–” 

“No time to argue,” he said, cutting off the person on the other end of the line, “too much is at stake! Go while you still can and don’t look back – may the Force be with you. Commander Gall out.”

The final guard hadn’t yet hit the floor as Glailen came up behind the mon calamari, lightsaber leading to impale the Pub from behind. Seemingly at the last instant Gall sidestepped and Glailen struck only the terminal. Before Glailen could react, the Republic commander slammed his forearm into the Sith’s face. Dazed, Glailen was unprepared for the vibroblade that pounded at his defences, nor the boot that buried itself in his gut. He crumpled around the hit, losing his grip on his weapon in the process, and dropped back to the floor. 

“Arrogance!” shouted the mon calamari as Glailen sat up with some desperation. Commander Gall advanced quickly and threw a kick to Glailen’s jaw, rocking him and throwing him back to the floor. He didn’t stay down though as the seriousness of the situation set in and he pushed himself to his feet.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” Glailen couldn’t respond to the accusation as he was more concerned with catching the swinging vibroblade. He moved in close, trying to control Gall’s wrists, but the Republic commander smashed his forehead into Glailen’s nose, stunning the Sith, before kicking at a leg. By cruel fate or bad luck, Gall hit where Glailen was wounded. Glailen dropped to a knee with a howl of pain, losing hold of his opponent in the process. Commander Gall loomed over him. 

“You’re not the first Sith I’ve fought and you won’t be the last!” As Gall raised his vibroblade for the final blow, he left himself open. In a flash, Glailen summoned his lightsaber and swung it to sever both of his opponent’s arms. Before the mon calamari could scream, the crimson blade slashed again, this time removing head from shoulders. The remainder of Gall began falling forward but Glailen rose to his feet and pushed the body aside. 

That fight had been too close for Glailen’s liking and he understood an important factor had been the fact he was near his physical limit. He was relying more and more on the Force to give him the strength necessary to continue but that just meant when he lost focus he was more vulnerable. He needed to finish the mission as soon as possible but that was easier said. Glailen thought back to the conversation Gall had been so involved with. He was willing to bet Gall had been advising the general to take one of the escape pods, if not to actually escape then to stall for time. That couldn’t be allowed but he didn’t know where to look and with little time he couldn’t run around the whole ship. 

Glailen glanced at the terminal Gall had been using; it was damaged from his failed attack but appeared to still be working. He tried a few keys and before long his hopes were rewarded as a schematic of the Brentaal Star came up on the screen. Better still, his datawatch was able to connect and download the map. Something close to relief flooded Glailen’s body as he realized he was not yet beaten.                                                         

* * *

 

 

It was a dumb idea and Vette knew it. Going along with Sylas to fight the Republic commandos had been a dumb decision. She knew it on the bridge and she knew it now as she huddled behind some containers, trying not to get shot. That wasn’t to say the Imperials hadn’t done well for themselves. The boarders had been pushed back all the way to their shuttles but behind makeshift barricades they refused to be dislodged. Blaster fire was endlessly exchanged across the hanger. The Imps attacked relentlessly but the Pubs stubbornly refused to lose. How long had they been stuck here? Vette couldn’t say but she knew she was sick of the firefight. 

Glancing to the left – on her right was a large shipping container, four meters tall, acting as a wall – down the low row of containers the Imps were using for cover, Vette spotted Sylas. She didn’t seem to have any problem with the situation, fighting hard to win and encouraging her troops to do the same. That was fine in Vette’s mind; Lieutenant Sylas could take all the action for all she cared. Vette was content to remain hidden and not ashamed of it either. She had fought just as hard as they had to clear the halls and figured she deserved a break from almost dying. Besides, the outcome was inevitable. 

Daring a peek, Vette looked over at the Republic position and counted three standing, one of which was a battledroid. A quick head count showed the Imperials had nine. Numbers would surly tell.

 _Wait._  

Vette looked back at the Pubs with sudden confusion. She remembered seeing a nautolan among the Republic forces and she hadn’t seen him fall. Had he snuck away or boarded the shuttle…? 

A large shape dropped down in front of Vette. She stifled a cry by biting down on her sleeve. It was the nautolan, larger up close, and he carried a vibroblade. He advanced on the Imperials – he hadn’t seen Vette huddled up in the corner. Neither had the Imps noticed his entrance. 

“For the Republic!” he cried as he swung his weapon at the first trooper. They died with a scream that was cut short. The next trooper was alerted by the sound but couldn’t turn fast enough before that vibroblade struck them as well. Sylas was next and already aiming at the attacker but the nautolan was aware and smart, kicking the second trooper into her before death made the body go limp. Knocked to the ground and momentarily trapped, Sylas was easy prey.

Vette watched with wide eyes, struggling with fear and shock. No one else had noticed what was happening, they were too far away and focused on the fight. Sylas was about to die as the nautolan raised his weapon. 

Lifting her blasters, Vette fired off a quick burst. Two, three, bolts struck the nautolan in the back. He collapsed forward where Sylas was trapped under one of her troopers. Vette gaped, wondering if she’d just killed the lieutenant while trying to save her. There was no movement for long moments. Suddenly the nautolan’s body shifted and fell to the side. Sylas stuck out a hand and pushed herself free. Hair a mess, she looked disheveled and not at all amused as she looked over at Vette. For a second, Vette wonders if she made the right choice saving the other woman. 

“Well done.”

Vette blinks in surprise. She didn’t think Sylas was capable of gratitude, certainly not to someone who helped capture her ship. The statement did sound genuine though. 

“Thanks,” she responded shakily. Sylas offered a nod before getting to her feet and returning to the fight. After a couple of relatively calming breaths, Vette found her nerve and joined her, adding her two blasters to the fight. It was eight against three. 

Numbers would surly tell.                                                     

* * *

 

 

Stumbling, breathing hard, Glailen walked through the hall. How many bodies lay behind him? How many had he left in his wake as he rampaged through the ship? It didn’t matter. What mattered is each one added up against him. Time and energy used dealing with obstacles. He couldn’t go much further. At least, he didn’t think he could. But he had to. Glailen sighed with frustration at the concentration it took to keep moving forward. He walked over to a wall and leaned against it, deciding to consult his datawatch. Not because he wanted a rest. That was not the reason. 

He looked up and down the hall before studying the map on his datawatch. He glanced down the hall once more and then returned to the map. Excitement coursed through him as he looked away from his watch and focused on a door at the end of the hall. That was the way and he was almost there. All he had to do was go through the door, take a left, and he would be at the pod bay. Lurching away from the wall, Glailen broke into a jog heading for the open doorway. Maybe he could still make it; capture the general, get back to the Black Talon and finally get some much needed rest. The thought of such a thing almost brought a smile to his face. As the doorway came closer Glailen sped up with anticipation. 

The doors suddenly slid shut just before he could pass through. Glailen stepped back with shock and indignation that he should be denied. Rage welled up inside of him until he couldn’t take it anymore. All that rage was focused and unleashed as Glailen screamed and thrust out a hand, using the Force to blow the doors inward. Part of him was surprised by how effective the move had been, he had acted on instinct only, but he was more interested in what lay on the other side of the doorway. Every second wasted gave the general time to flee in an escape pod. If that happened then everything would be for nothing.

That could not be allowed. 

With that in mind Glailen walked through the wreckage and looked around. Then he saw him. Perhaps fifty feet away stood an old man, bent over with an injury, and who was staring over at Glailen. The general had been located. It wasn’t the fear in the man’s eyes that convinced Glailen he had found his target; it was the understanding. Seeing the success of his mission within reach, Glailen sprinted toward the general who stumbled back helplessly. Glailen could only take five strides before he was forced back to reality. 

An invisible wall rushed up to meet the Sith in mid-stride, lifting him up and throwing him back the way he’d came. Glailen slid to a stop on the floor. He sat up with a shocked expression he wasn’t aware he wore. Too distracted was he with the cloaked twi’lek female interposing herself between Glailen and the general. They spoke hushed words with the general, which Glailen didn’t think he would have heard even had they been close enough. His attention was on the lightsaber the twi’lek produced from their robe. Glailen’s eyes widened as the woman turned her gaze from the general to him. There was no mistaking who, or rather what, he was staring at. As the general began hobbling off, the twi’lek ignited her lightsaber. An emerald beam erupted from the hilt, which she held before her in a battle stance. 

“I am Yadira Ban of the Jedi Order,” she announced, “and by my word as a Jedi, you will go no further, Sith!” 

A smile spread across Glailen’s lips. Energy suddenly flooded his weary limbs. He rolled back and sprung to his feet before igniting his own lightsaber. _A Jedi._ The thought made him ecstatic. After everything that had happened this day, everything that had been sacrificed, he felt like he was being granted a gift. This was not a new story to the galaxy. No, it was one that had been told countless times and would be told again countless times. Here and now, however, it was his turn to place his mark on the tale. Sith versus Jedi. An unending conflict for supremacy. Of the galaxy, yes, but more importantly of the Force. 

A chance for revenge. 

Someone was laughing. Glailen realized it was him. Yes, he had been waiting for this moment. 

He charged. 

Their blades clashed together. Yadira gasped at the strain. Glailen was quite a bit larger than her and he intended to use the advantage fully. The twi’lek’s eyes widened as he began pushing her back. Perhaps she hadn’t expected his strength or how he rushed into the fight or, maybe, she could sense that Glailen was enjoying himself. Not much could make Glailen feel happy anymore and he would be the first to admit that but this was something he had always hoped would be different. Thus far it was proving to be. 

With a push of her own, Yadira shoved aside Glailen’s lightsaber and moved to go on the offensive. Glailen welcomed the attempt. It was short-lived as the Sith easily countered a couple of strikes before resuming his own attack, although this time he didn’t resort to a test of strength. One strike after another he threw at the twi’lek in a flurry of ferocious blows. She stood her ground as best she could but it was written plain on her face that it was all she could do to keep up with her opponent. Almost effortlessly Glailen caught her lightsaber on his own and twisted it aside, giving him an opening to deliver a backhand blow across her face. She stumbled back. Glailen watched with satisfaction as she spat blood onto the floor, then he was relieved when she straightened up and stood her ground. He had been worried she would flee after first blood. Glailen stalked towards her and again their blades met in a flash of light. They stayed together for only a second before both combatants began attacking, defending, counter-attacking, searching for an opening to exploit.

Before long Glailen began to realize something about his opponent. Yadira Ban was at her limit. She was doing everything she could to keep up with Glailen and somehow turn the tide of the fight but it was proving not enough. Already she was forced to defend more and more and could be seen breathing hard while Glailen still felt relatively fresh. In fact, he couldn’t help but feel he could end the fight whenever he wished. Glailen had taken the measure of the Jedi before him and found them wanting. He was fairly certain of why as well. Without warning, Glailen caught his opponent’s lightsaber, just as he had before, and stepped in close before driving his forehead against the twi’lek’s. In the moment that she was stunned he grabbed her wrist and gave it a sharp twist and her grip on her lightsaber was lost. She cried out from the pain but that cry was cut short as Glailen delivered a sharp kick to her gut that threw her to the ground. Yadira didn’t stay down, however, using the momentum to roll back into a crouch. One hand held her stomach protectively but the other was outstretched, using the Force to retrieve her lost lightsaber. Glailen had expected as much and slashed his lightsaber through the air, carving the Jedi’s weapon in two, without taking his eyes from his foe. He saw the precise moment Yadira Ban lost hope. The strength faded from her and she dropped her head. Glailen stepped closer until he stood over her. 

“You’re only a padawan, aren’t you?” It had been intended as a question but it sounded more like an accusation to Glailen’s ears.  
“Yes…” The word was ground out through clenched teeth. Glailen looked away – not at anything in particular – as he worked through his thoughts. He looked back at the twi’lek and gave a slight shake of his head. 

“A waste.” 

Glailen raised his lightsaber to deliver the final blow but as he did Yadira threw out both hands and suddenly Glailen was thrown back down the pod bay. He landed heavily, dazed, but quickly got back to his feet in a defensive pose. His eyes found Yadira and she was back on her feet; slouched but standing. More importantly, defiance and the will to fight had returned to her features. She didn’t say anything, only stared back at him as though daring him to try again. Unsurprisingly Glailen decided to oblige. He rushed forward with a howl, the Force granting him strength to move faster than a normal being. Yadira Ban also had the Force on her side though, she reacted quickly and sent another powerful wave of the Force against Glailen. The Sith was ready this time and managed to remain standing against the blast. Even still he was forced back half the distance he had gained. That didn’t matter as Glailen glared back at the Jedi. He charged again. Propelled by the Force he was able to strike across the distance quickly but not before Yadira sent another blast against him. This time he skidded to a stop but was not forced back. He didn’t wait before rushing forward. Again the Jedi tried using the Force to stop him but Glailen’s power was growing and this time he pushed right through the attack while barely slowing. A seed of panic sprouted within Yadira but her discipline kept it small even as she saw defeat as a certainty. 

As a last resort she used the Force to lift pieces of debris from around her to use as projectiles. The effort was too great for her to act swiftly. Glailen saw the threat and threw out a hand, sending a powerful Force blast of his own at the Jedi. Yadira was thrown back until she struck a stack of containers several meters away. With a final surge Glailen dashed across the floor with his lightsaber leading to impale his opponent. The Jedi was still dazed when Glailen’s lightsaber struck. She was not too dazed to fall on her side. The lightsaber buried itself in the container Yadira had been leaning against a heartbeat earlier. Glailen turned his glare on the twi’lek, saw how fear had all but overtaken her. She tried to crawl away but Glailen was quick, snatching at her ankle and pulling her closer before switching to her throat. Yadira struggled against his grip but she was weakened and he too strong. Glailen lifted his opponent to their knees while raising his lightsaber high for the final blow.

“Wait, Sith! Do not harm her!” Glailen’s head snapped to the side to find the general hadn’t gone far after all; or perhaps some thoughts of guilt had compelled him to return. Yadira saw the same thing and her fight to free herself became more panicked. 

“No–!” she croaked around Glailen’s iron grasp. 

“You’re not in a position to be giving orders, _general_ ,” growled the Sith. First denied combat with a true Jedi and now a traitor trying to tell him what to do? His hold on the twi’lek’s throat tightened. 

“Allow the Jedi to live and I will go with you willingly.” 

“You say that as though I would have a difficult time controlling an injured, fat, old man,” snapped Glailen in retort. The general’s mouth became a thin white line but he didn’t rise to the taunt. 

“Please,” he said simply. 

Glailen watched the older man with contempt and frustration. He didn’t want to give a traitor anything but at the same time his words resonated within the Sith. For years all Glailen wanted was to kill Jedi and now that he had one literally within his grasp he found it…distasteful. Yadira Ban was, after all, not a true Jedi. Not yet. Arguably she was a victim of the Jedi as Glailen had been. The crime done unto her being brainwashing. Perhaps one day he would be her end but today… 

“I accept your offer.” Glailen released his hold and Yadira fell to the floor, choking for air. Through ragged breaths she tried to speak. 

“You can’t…go with him!” 

“I’m sorry, my dear,” said the general with a pained smile, “but we have to accept the hopelessness of the situation. We have lost but there’s no point in you dying because of it. You can live on.” 

“Let’s go.” Without further coaxing, the general shuffled over and even continued past Glailen without the Sith needing to lead the way. The general may have been a traitor but his word was good. _Once an Imperial, always_ , thought Glailen as he moved to join the other man. 

“I’ll never forget this, Sith. I’ll never forget you.” Pausing, Glailen looked back at the twi’lek Jedi struggling to her feet. She had to lean against one of the nearby containers to do it but even in her current state she didn’t temper the heat in her words. Glailen arched an eyebrow at the comment.

“That sounds like a threat. Not very Jedi-like.” Feeling suddenly inspired by his own words and Yadira’s silent glare, Glailen turned and walked over to his beaten opponent. He could sense the worry spike within the general but wisely the man held his tongue. Glailen stopped close enough that he could strike the Jedi down with his lightsaber without taking another step. She no doubt noticed as much as well. 

“Am I really the one you should be angry with? I spared your life and it was an Imperial – regardless of their allegiance – who argued for it.” 

“None of this would have happened if you hadn’t attacked us,” argued Yadira, standing her ground defiantly. 

“Of course I attacked you – he’s a defector trying to give away military secrets and where I’m from that’s called treason!” As Glailen spoke his words gained emphasis. Perhaps that was why the Jedi offered no immediate retort. Or perhaps she just didn’t have one. 

“No, what you should be thinking about is how the Republic and the Jedi thought that such a high-value target in a high-risk situation didn’t warrant more than a padawan for protection. A padawan who was clearly not ready for this fight, I might add.” Glailen could sense how his words had shaken Yadira but still she tried to argue the point. 

“They trusted me–” 

“No,” Glailen cut in with authority, “you trusted them and they betrayed that trust! You were going to die here and had I been any other Sith in the galaxy you likely would have. All because those you serve couldn’t be bothered to assign at least a knight to this mission.” Now Yadira said nothing and was even forced to look away from the intensity of Glailen’s stare. He felt pity for her.

“Where even is your master?”

There was no answer given to Glailen’s question. Yadira Ban was beaten physically and mentally. At least for the day. Feeling he had made his point he turned and walked over to the general and the two of them resumed their march. Over his should he offered a final remark. 

“Maybe you should ask them why you were left at the mercy of a Sith.” 

Using the schematics for the ship he had acquired it was easy for Glailen to find a relatively quick path back to the flight deck where his ship was waiting. The marines that had come along were also still there and breathing. By the looks of things they hadn’t received any visitors since he left them. _Guess we can’t all have an exciting day._ Sergeant Waltz walked moved to meet Glailen.

“It looks like you were successful, my Lord,” stated the sergeant. Glailen nodded as he shoved the general towards a pair of additional marines. 

“I was. Put restraints on this traitor and let’s get back to the ship. This battle is done.” 

“Sounds good to me, my Lord.” The party piled into the ship and moments later left the Brentaal Star. Both sides seemed aware that the battle was truly over as ships were no longer exchanging fire. That made the trip much smoother to the point where Glailen nearly fell asleep in his seat.

“You hate me. I understand.” Frowning, Glailen refused to open his resting eyes to look at the general seated across from him. 

“Good,” he growled. 

“I had to do it. Do you want to know why?” 

“Not really, no.” Glailen hoped the exasperation in his tone would prevent the general from making any more comments. 

“Because the next war will destroy us all.” Struggling with disappointment and the urge it brought to strangle the other man, Glailen reluctantly opened his eyes. The previous urge died away upon looking at the general. He had never seen a more perfect portrait of a man who has given up. This wasn’t a traitor’s pleas for forgiveness; it was a dead man’s last gasp. 

“You have no idea what both sides are planning. I couldn’t stand by and allow it to happen. My only hope was to shift the balance of power so neither side would risk open war again. At least not for many more years.”

“War is inevitable. We’re just too different, us and them,” said Glailen though he wasn’t sure why. There was no need for him to justify himself to a traitor. The general offered the ghost of a smile, almost pitying. 

“What makes war inevitable are thoughts like that.” Glailen considered a retort but let it, and the conversation, die away. He was too tired to argue with someone who was set in their way. 

Before long the shuttle reached the Black Talon and landed safely inside. The marines began filing out, taking the general with them, as Glailen lingered in his seat. He seriously considered remaining there for at least a power nap but determined it simply wouldn’t do for a Sith. Reluctantly he got up on shaky legs and made his way down the shuttle’s ramp. Being greeted by Captain Orvik, Lieutenant Sylas, Vette and some forty members of the ship’s crew was unexpected. 

“Welcome back, my Lord. Congratulations are in order,” said Captain Orvik as he presented a salute. Everyone else – with the exception of Vette – followed suit. A nod and wave was the best Glailen could think of to acknowledge everyone at once though he spoke directly to the captain. 

“You’re right, Captain Orvik. Congratulations are owed to every man and woman on this ship who saw the mission to its success. We’ve earned an important victory for the Empire.” 

“And all we needed was someone to lead the way.” There was added meaning to those words that was not lost on Glailen. He offered a slight nod to the captain who returned it. After a few seconds Orvik gestured to his right. 

“Your companion was most helpful while you were away. She and Lieutenant Sylas led the fight to repel the borders.”

 “Is that so?” Honestly surprised, Glailen turned a questioning look at Vette.  As he did others turned their eyes to her as well. She shrugged to hide the discomfort she felt at the sudden attention. 

“What, you thought I was just going to sit around and watch?” 

“As I said,” spoke Glailen, returning the attention to him, “we have all done well.” 

“Would you be interested in celebrating? It’s not every day this ship sees action like that and I have some Corellian ale I could break out for you and my officers.” Though he appreciated Orvik’s offer, Glailen didn’t need any time to think on his answer. 

“The only thing I plan on doing is going to my quarters and sleeping until we reach Dromund Kaas. I had best not be disturbed unless engines and life support systems suffer complete failure.” Without waiting for anyone to try persuading him otherwise, Glailen turned and began walking away.

“Before you go, my Lord,” Glailen stopped in mid stride at NR-O2’s words, “Grand Moff Kilran wishes to speak with you and offer his own congratulations.” Glailen wanted nothing more than to refuse. He was the slightest lapse in control away from losing consciousness. If he didn’t get a decent amount of sleep soon and before any more life-threatening situations arose then he was certain the next one would be his last. He wasn’t so lucky though. 

 _‘So long as we can give more for the Empire, we must.’_

Glailen turned to face NR-O2 and everyone else assembled.

“Then we mustn’t keep the Grand Moff waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there's a lot that can be said here but I think I'll settle for saying I hope this chapter didn't disappoint anyone. I worked really hard on it and I think it turned out well. Regardless of whether you enjoyed it or not, I'd be happy to hear your comments. Otherwise, I'll see you at the next chapter.


	7. Heart of an Empire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glailen and Vette finally arrive on Dromund Kaas but they barely have time to get their bearings before Darth Baras seeks to utilize them. Soon the pair find themselves tested by what the Imperial home world has to offer. And it's just their first day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, a new chapter. Pinch me. Let's hope it was worth the wait? 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Warning for child violence and (mild?) pedophilia.

**Chapter 6: Heart of an Empire**

Setting foot on Korriban had resonated with the Sith and Dark Side in Glailen but reaching Dromund Kaas spoke to his Imperial pride. After the operation against the Brentaal Star, the Black Talon’s voyage had been uneventful just as Glailen had wanted – had needed. Waking to the announcement that they had reached the Kaas system had been satisfying. He wouldn’t say he was fully rested but Glailen was doing much better than he had been and that was good enough for the time being. Actually departing the Black Talon had been something of an awkward affair with the crew. Despite everything they’d accomplished, there remained the wounds of when Glailen had terrorized the Talon. As Glailen and Vette boarded their shuttle to the farewells of Orvik and Sylas, the Sith could sense a wave of relief come over those gathered. It was a fair response. Now the pair of travellers had reached the world they sought.

Stepping off the shuttle and walking through the spaceport, Glailen appraised his surroundings. Vette was also openly surveying the area as her head moved from side to side but it was more from how uncomfortable she felt about where they were. There was nothing to be done for it and Glailen suspected nothing he could say to ease her mind either. All he could do was trust she would become accustomed to their surroundings. Glailen, on the other hand, appreciated what he saw. It seemed to him that the spaceport was much like the Empire itself; neat, organized and on high alert. Dromund Kaas was probably the most well protected world in the Empire, perhaps the galaxy, but that didn’t mean it was immune to danger. Spies, saboteurs, assassins and more could infiltrate the world if security was not sufficient. Unless one was a Sith, evidently. Glailen and Vette walked through more than one security checkpoint simply by virtue of it being obvious one of them was a Sith. That was something that stood out quite insistently to Glailen. A glaring flaw in the planet’s security to his mind. He considered making mention of it but decided against it. Who of any significant status would listen to a lowly apprentice? Maybe one day, when there was more weight behind his words, he would remember the concern and try to get something done about it. For now, he had to drop the issue. That was fine considering he had somewhere to be.

Despite the large size of the spaceport, it didn’t take long for Glailen and Vette to find their way out. They stopped just outside the entrance in order to get their bearings. Glailen looked around, taking stock of the security along the perimeter and scanning the treeline a couple hundred meters away. The spaceport was the largest on the planet and nearest to Kaas City but was a few miles away from the city border. Unsurprisingly there were many vehicles flying towards the port and just as many leaving in various directions, most going towards the same point. Glailen suspected he would be joining them soon as he spotted where hovercabs, waiting to offer their services to new arrivals to the planet, sat eagerly. Glailen started forward but stopped upon realizing Vette wasn’t following. He looked back at her with a questioning eyebrow. She was looking around much as he had a moment earlier but with less appreciation for the surroundings. 

“Dark, threatening and with a perpetual feeling of rain.”

“It rains often in this area,” supplied Glailen. Vette nodded without looking his way. 

“Just how I’d expect the capital of the Sith Empire to look and feel. Didn’t think there would be so many trees but they’re creepy enough to fit in.” Vette added a shrug for emphasis as she walked up to Glailen. He offered a half-hearted shrug of his own before responding. 

“Should probably get used to this world. If all goes well then we’ll be spending a lot of time here.” The twi’lek raised a questioning eyebrow. 

“And if things don’t go well?” 

“We’ll be dead,” stated Glailen as he began to turn away. He stopped short as Vette held up a hand at about shoulder height, palm up. 

“Seeing the sights on Dromund Kaas or,” she lifted her other hand to mirror the first, “death.” Glailen considered how his companion weighed the possible outcomes but decided she missed a crucial point. He faced her, raising his hands to mimic hers before bringing them together.

“Dying whilst seeing the sights on Dromund Kaas. This is not a safe world.”

“Are you saying even the heart of the Sith Empire isn’t safe in this wacky galaxy?” asked Vette with a hint of sarcasm that was not lost on Glailen. Even so, he couldn’t keep the confusion from his tone. 

“Of course it isn’t. Nowhere is safe.” 

Considering the matter settled, Glailen turned and resumed his approach to the nearest hovercab. Vette followed a step behind. It was just as well they didn’t continue talking out in the open as a light rain began as they reached the vehicle. They hurriedly got in and the driver, a droid, perked up. 

“Greetings, sir. Where would you like to go?”

“The Sith Temple, Kaas City,” responded Glailen as he settled in. There wasn’t as much leg room as he would have liked but it wouldn’t be a long trip.

“Right away. Please remain seated during transit.” Without further preamble the hovercab lurched into motion, rising until it floated well above the nearby trees. The cab sped off towards its destination with only a slight rocking motion from the stormy winds gathering strength.

Glailen rested his head on a fist as he stared out the window without really seeing anything. He couldn’t deny a certain level of anticipation at not only seeing Kaas City with his own eyes but more importantly the Sith Temple, from which the Empire’s fate was decided each day. There he would encounter the most powerful Sith alive; he would see those who stood at a level he aspired to reach. Yes, he was nervous; as Vette appeared to be given her constant fidgeting. Or perhaps she was bored. More likely, Glailen had to acknowledge, she was worried. Being a Force-blind twi’lek in the middle of the Sith Empire and about to set foot in the seat of Sith power had to be…a unique experience. She had Glailen’s sympathy and he promised himself he would try to look out for her but for the time being their fates were intertwined. 

“Wow.” 

The one-word statement from Vette pulled Glailen out of his thoughts. He looked around for what had caught her attention but he didn’t have to look hard. A heartbeat later and they were officially within Kaas City. The mighty metropolis sprawled in all directions and seeing it all in person did not disappoint. On a world as prone to storms as Dromund Kaas, not many buildings were erected to heights that could be considered dazzling on other worlds. Certainly not when compared to Coruscant. What Kaas City lacked in its reach to the clouds, however, it made up for with its claim to the world’s core. A few kilometers past the gates and the ground suddenly plunged revealing a wide and deep pit that was covered in the Empire’s architecture. The majority of the city’s inhabitants, both rich and poor, lived below the surface. Other cities on Dromund Kaas followed the same design but none came close to the frightening scope of Kaas City.

Glailen saw Vette give a small shudder as she tried to take it all in. Kaas City was a unique sight and it had different effects on people. For some it could be intimidating to behold, especially during a storm such as the one rolling into the city behind their cab. For others it offered a more stabilizing feeling; a display of the Empire’s might. Glailen didn’t fall under either. Instead he felt a powerful eagerness to serve. 

To serve the Empire. 

He would get his opportunity soon as he leaned back in his seat. Looking through the front viewport of the cab, he could see their destination. At the center of the city and elevated to the surface stood several large connected structures. They all had an important purpose to the Empire, Glailen knew, but the one that held his gaze was the largest among them. The Sith Temple seemed to stare back, beckoning he draw closer – so that he may finally prove his worth. 

“It’s a little beautiful in an ominous kind of way,” said Vette with a forced chuckle. Glailen took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly through his nose.

 “It’s truly something to behold.” The words came out nearly a whisper, earning Vette’s attention.

“This must be pretty special for you. Like coming home?” Glailen cocked his head, considering, before shrugging. 

“I suppose. As near as, perhaps.” 

It wasn’t long before the hovercab touched down on one of the landing pads. Glailen swiped his finance card, a card linking him to the bank account given to him by the Sith Order and to which his credits were transferred, without checking the cost. However much he lost on rides like this one, he was sure he would make it all back before long. Leaving the vehicle, Glailen took several steps before stopping and gazing up at the temple. His eyes tried to take in every detail as he turned up to see the very top. There were a few buildings in the city that stood taller but that was fine for the Sith Temple demanded more respect than all the others.

Vette stepped up next to him. He looked down at her; she was staring ahead at the entrance where dozens of Imperials – mainly Sith – entered and exited the structure. Silent guards dressed in the red uniforms of the Empire’s elite stood watch, ready to defend the center of Imperial power and authority. Vette blew out a shaky breath, no doubt allowing her imagination to run unchecked. Gingerly Glailen reached out a hand and placed it on her shoulder. Her attention snapped to him, eyes wide with a mix of shock that he was touching her and guilt that he’d caught her unguarded. 

“It will be okay, Vette. You will be leaving the temple.” 

“Leaving’s not the part I’m worried about…” 

“You’ll be fine, I promise.” He held her gaze another moment, squeezing her shoulder gently before letting his hand fall away. Glailen began walking forward without hesitation. They couldn’t stand back forever. A couple of heartbeats later and Glailen heard Vette hurrying to catch up. He looked back and nodded approval. She was brave, sometimes she needed a little encouragement but she had yet to disappoint him. 

Glailen strode forward confidently. He was Sith, he belonged here. The guards, at least, seemed to agree as they didn’t stop him from entering. They didn’t even spare an obvious glance for Vette. As they walked in the world outside ceased to exist. Gone were the sounds of city life and the rumbling of a brewing storm, replaced by a silence. It wasn’t complete as there was still the shuffle of footsteps, murmured chatter and hum of machines operating, but it was all too easy to feel like there was no sound. Glailen carried himself lightly, subconsciously picking up on the disturbance he would have caused with stomping feet. Everyone seemed to be under the same spell. As though to break the fragile silence would be the height of impolite conduct and frowned upon.

Earning the disapproval of the Sith around him was not how Glailen wanted his first visit to the Temple to go and so he did his best not to stand out. He didn’t have to try too hard as just about everyone ignored him completely in favour of their own concerns. But not all. Those few who did acknowledge his existence gave only scornful stares. He knew those stares, they had been all too common during his time as an initiate. Weakness was not something Sith looked upon with much other than derision. It was different this time though, as an initiate Glailen had been ignorant of the ways of the Sith and the Force but now he was expected – no, he was being dared – to prove himself. Passing his trials on Korriban hadn’t made him Sith in the truest sense. He was still a student and he needed to show he could be more. 

Glailen walked with his back straight and head held high. He wouldn’t challenge others but nor would he allow himself to be cowed by simple looks. It was, however, hard not to look lost in unfamiliar territory given he didn’t actually know where his master’s chambers were. Thankfully it wasn’t too difficult to get the attention of one of the many droids going about their various tasks. The droid provided directions but was apparently too busy to show the way. Glailen was fine with it. Being led around by a droid was certain not to gain him any favour with the Sith who saw. Despite the size of the Temple it was fairly easy to locate Baras’ chambers after being given some idea of where to go. 

Glailen stopped at a doorway, from which a flight of stairs led down to a landing that turned left out of sight. He looked around but saw no indication of where this path led. Even being reasonably sure he was at the right place, the possibility of going down those stairs and interrupting a discussion between two Darths caused him to hesitate. _I’ve kept my Master waiting long enough already. This is no time for you to lose your nerve, Glailen._ Shaking his head, the young Sith began his descent down the stairs; Vette followed close behind. There was a short hallway at the bottom of the stairs, leading to a set of doors. Beyond them Glailen could feel Baras’ presence. With so many powerful Force users around it had been hard to pick out his master’s unique signature but now there was no doubt. Glailen stopped short of reaching for the buzzer on the intercom. He turned around. 

“Vette–”

“I’ll have to meet the guy eventually. Can’t always hang back while you talk to the boss.” She winked at him, a gesture meant to help defuse the tension as Glailen well knew. It had little impact. Vette was a mass of fear and anxiety, clear indicators of both not belonging and wanting to be anywhere else. Such unrestrained emotion would be impossible for a Sith to overlook. _But being afraid…that’s probably nothing Baras isn’t used to._  

“No, you’re right,” Glailen conceded. 

Steeling himself, Glailen hit the buzzer on the intercom. The doors slid open almost immediately. Glailen was momentarily surprised but collected himself quickly. If he could feel his master than the reverse was surly true as well. Baras had probably been wondering what was taking Glailen so long to announce himself at the door and growing impatient by the delay. Unwilling to make his master wait any longer, Glailen strode through the opening and found himself in a decently sized room. Some kind of work space was Glailen’s first assessment of his surroundings and he could see another room through the only other door. It appeared to be more like an office of sorts though he could only guess. What was most important to take notice of was the only person present, standing in the far corner of the room. 

Darth Baras stood with his back to Glailen, hands clasped behind him, as he studied a stone slab of sorts propped up against the wall. The seconds ticked by with the younger Sith waiting on his teacher to acknowledge him. Glailen’s instinct was to make his presence known but that was foolish. His master was well aware of him. He was simply making him wait.

“Apprentice.” The Darth turned to face Glailen, a blank mask analyzing, judging. 

“You’ve arrived. Finally.” Glailen suppressed his exasperation at the annoyance in his master’s tone. It wouldn’t do to lose his focus now.  

“Apologies, Master. There were some developments that took the Black Talon off course and required my attention.” 

“Yes, spare me the details. Grand Moff Kilran has been kind enough to contact and inform me of your little service to the Empire.” Glailen pressed his lips together, refusing to say anything despite his confusion. Baras sounded understanding but he felt – from what Glailen could actually sense – vexed. Almost as though he were resentful that Glailen had a legitimate reason for arriving at the hour he did.

“He says you did well and, of course, you could hardly refuse him.” The way Baras put emphasis on his every word tore at Glailen’s nerves as he felt himself begin to sweat. His master paused, holding Glailen in place with a hidden stare. Glailen tried to hold that stare. After a long moment his eyes shifted away almost against his will. It was then that Baras appeared to become more relaxed. 

“It just means you will need to begin your work here sooner,” he continued pointedly and suddenly Glailen understood what was happening. Baras hadn’t made Glailen his new apprentice so he could be used by others for their missions – even if those missions were the Empire’s – he did so he could use Glailen for his own goals. To stay in his master’s good graces, Glailen needed to show he would serve eagerly. 

“I am ready, Master.” 

“Good. Considering your late arrival, I took the liberty of making living arrangements for you at Lord Haits Towers – named after the Sith who spared the life of the owner. The location and details have been sent to your datawatch. I’m sure you’ll find the location adequate.” Glailen felt his eyes narrow before he could stop himself. He tried to hide it by closing them completely as he bow at the hip.

“Thank you for your generosity, Master.” 

“Thank me by not failing me,” said Baras with a slow shake of his head. 

Darth Baras turned away and began walking into the back room. Glailen, hoping he was noticing a signal that was not there, followed a second later. As he did he couldn’t help looking at the stone tablet his master had been looking over before he arrived. It was then that he realized it wasn’t stone but carbonite and frozen in that carbonite was a man. Whoever they were, Glailen couldn’t help pitying them being left at the mercy of Darth Baras. The Sith lord, of course, took notice of Glailen’s distraction.

“You are curious about my other guest. I might as well fill you in on some of the details now.” Baras walked around a large table, much like the one he had on Korriban, and sat down behind it as he spoke. 

“He is a Republic agent I had captured and delivered to me. He arrived shortly before you did. I have reason to believe he had been working to uncover my spy network. After spending decades placing eyes and ears in all levels of society, the damage that would be caused by the network’s unraveling would be devastating to my plans. This cannot be allowed.” Glailen was surprised by his master’s statement. He mauled it over in his mind, if he understood correctly then…

“You have spies among the Jedi,” said Glailen slowly, unsure of how far he could or should pry, “and the Sith.” There was a slight tilt to Baras’ head, a show of confusion, before he responded.

“Of course. I need to keep tabs on both my enemies and rivals.”

 _Yes, naturally._  

“It’s…an impressive feat, Master,” said Glailen, trying to mollify the other Sith. Whatever the reason – and he was sure he couldn’t accurately guess Baras’ thoughts – he had been made privy to some sensitive information. 

“Thank you, Apprentice, but flattery will only get you so far,” replied Baras in a dismissive tone.

“I must learn what the agent knows and then we’ll go from there. For now I have another task for you.” At the announcement of work to be done, Glailen felt himself relax. He was his master’s tool to be utilized, he was grateful for being picked to become an apprentice, but he could admit to himself at least that he didn’t enjoy being around his master. Getting his mind on a mission would help him stay focused and earn his master’s trust. 

“On the outskirts of the city,” began Baras, “you’ll find a partially built statue of some size which was being made in the image of another Sith lord. The slaves responsible for the construction have revolted and now control the area surrounding the monolith. Naturally the Dark Council is not pleased with an uprising on the Empire’s capital world and the Sith lord who brought the slaves here has been tasked with putting down the revolt. Thus far they have been unsuccessful as the slaves are motivated with freedom and have obtained a great deal of arms.” Baras leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk. 

“What isn’t known is that via a number of my agents it was I who supplied the slaves with weapons and information and convinced them to fight back. The Sith lord who wanted the statue built is something of a rival of mine and I sought to discredit him.” Glailen’s eyes widened marginally. He kept his mouth shut. He didn’t trust himself to make any comments. Darth Baras continued after allowing a moment for the information to sink in. 

“Everything has gone according to plan except now the handful of slaves who know of my involvement – the leaders – are attempting to blackmail me into providing more weapons. This cannot be allowed. As such I will be sending you to the slave camp to discourage them.” Behind him Glailen heard Vette breath in sharply. 

“As you command, Master,” said Glailen quickly, hoping it would keep Vette from saying anything. She managed to keep her opinions to herself though having Baras turn his mask to her might have done more to convince her than anything Glailen had done. After a moment Baras returned his attention to his apprentice. 

“I have already sent a file to your datawatch containing the names and pictures of all the slave captains. Kill a few of them and make it look obvious what they were killed by. That should give them second thoughts about contacting me again.” 

“I will not fail you, Master.” 

“Of course not. I didn’t choose you out of all the candidates on Korriban just to have you killed by slaves. Don’t embarrass yourself.” Suddenly Baras’ voice became very low. A menacing whisper drilling into Glailen’s skull. 

“Don’t embarrass me.”

Glailen felt the weight of his master’s words like a heavy pressure on his chest. He bowed his head and turned to leave. There was no reason to say anything more. Baras wanted results. It was time for Glailen to deliver them. Vette followed close behind, moving quickly. They were out the front entrance and feeling the eyes of the guards on their backs before either spoke. 

“You were right,” said Vette, breaking the silence. Glailen turned a questioning look at her. She didn’t meet his eyes. 

“About him.” 

Glailen nodded and kept his eyes forward. They hopped inside the first hovercab they could find. 

“Lord Haits Towers,” Glailen spoke to the accompanying droid as he leaned back in the seat. He closed his eyes as his mind worked through the next few hours. 

“Right away, sir.” 

“We’ll find out where we’re living first,” said Glailen as the vehicle began to lurch into motion.

“Then it’s off to kill some uppity slaves.” It wasn’t a surprising comment from Vette. Really Glailen had been wondering when something of the kind would be said. 

“You can get settled in, see what we need and look into getting it. There should be a market of some kind close by. I’ll give you the credits for it.” 

“Excuse me?” Glailen opened his eyes and looked at his companion. She fairly radiated with…not quite outrage but not far from it either. When she had his attention she went on. 

“I thought we had an understanding regarding domestic duties.” Each word was said with extra emphasis in an effort to drive the point home. Glailen considered his next words. He did remember the first conversation he had with Vette, of course, but he was also of the opinion that work should be shared. Practically speaking, while they both could – probably – do either job, that didn’t mean they were both willing. 

“There’s not likely to be anything at this apartment other than water and we’ll need to eat something in the coming days. I would appreciate it if you ran this errand for both of us while I’m completing Baras’ mission.” Vette’s brow furrowed in irritation as her mouth shot open to argue but then she stopped, saying nothing. It was a second before she realized his mouth was still open and snapped it shut long enough to lick her lips. Her anger had been replaced with confusion. She tried again.

“Wait, I’m not coming with you?”

“I didn’t think you would be overly thrilled about killing slaves.” Maybe it was the bluntness of the words or perhaps it was something in Glailen’s expression. Something caused Vette to turn away and look out her window, though she probably wasn’t actually seeing anything. There was a long silence between them; Glailen returned to resting in his seat with his eyes closed. 

“I’ll find a place to get some real food – too many power bars can’t be good for you – and drinks. Nothing makes a home more depressing than an empty pantry.” Nodding agreement, another thought came to Glailen. 

“Buy yourself some new clothes if you’ve a mind to.” Glailen didn’t have to have his eyes open to know Vette was confused and suspicious of the off-hand comment. 

“The credits are there,” he explained, “might as well use them.”

Another pause. 

“Thanks.”

They kept to their own thoughts after that, spending the rest of the trip in silence. Glailen was curious to know where these Lord Haits Towers were, above or below, though he was hoping for above. The thought of looking up at the sky with walls of stone and dirt surrounding him, closing in…No, it wasn’t for him. Yet, he would endure it if he had to. 

Glailen let out a quiet sigh of relief as the hovercab began to circle a tall, rectangular building. It descended to street level, landing at the front entrance. Glailen paid the fare and gave instructions for the driver to wait a few minutes. As he and Vette got out he took a look around with interest. This was, after all, where he would be living while on Dromund Kaas for the foreseeable future. Maybe it was the time of day but it didn’t appear to be a busy part of the city as there were only a handful of people to be seen out and about. That suited Glailen fine as well. Fewer people meant fewer potential threats to keep eyes on and at the same time fewer eyes belonging to overly curious people. Vette would likely appreciate the latter. 

They entered the building and took a look around. It was clear the cream of society wouldn’t be living there but it certainly wasn’t a place without class. As it was, it would be the fanciest place Glailen had ever lived in. That alone was strange to him. He kept his face straight as he approached the front reception desk. Behind the desk sat a thin, balding man. He noticed their approach and waited with what he no doubt considered a welcoming smile.

“Greetings and welcome to Lord Haits Towers. How may I be of service?” 

“My name’s Glailen Reichscher. I believe there’s an apartment reserved for me?” The man made a show of thinking for a moment before smiling widely. 

“Oh yes, yes, of course. Darth Baras said you would be coming by at some point. You’ll be staying on the fourteenth floor; an excellent view I must say.” Turning away, the attendant began rifling through a drawer out of view. After a moment he produced a card with a large T on it and the letters LH in blue written over it. 

“This is your key card,” he said, handing the card to Glailen. The Sith looked it over, considering. 

“Is it possible to get another?” The smile slipped for an instant. Glailen caught how the attendant’s eyes flicked behind him at the same time before quickly returning to him. 

“Are you sure you wouldn’t feel better restricting access to your rooms?” 

“I would feel better,” Glailen began as he leaned forward, “knowing my companion and I could both get into our rooms without being joined at the hip.” The attendant licked his lips nervously. Clearly he hadn’t expected such a reaction from a Sith. 

“It’s just more practical, wouldn’t you agree?” asked Glailen after allowing a moment for the man to organize his thoughts. 

“Yes, of course, you’re right. Apologies.” The attendant was still smiling but it looked forced now as he rummaged through the drawer again and brought out another key card. He handed it to Glailen with a longing expression, as though he expected to regret the move. If he wanted to worry needlessly then that was his choice. 

“Thank you,” said Glailen before turning away. He handed the card to Vette. She wore the tiniest smirk that Glailen chose to ignore as they walked across the lobby. As Glailen had hoped there was a banking machine in the residence complex. It was a simple thing to transfer some credits to a disposable finance card. He presented it to Vette. Wide-eyed, she took it almost hesitantly as though worried Glailen would pull away at the last second. He waited as the twi’lek examined the card and put it away in one of her pockets. Glailen offered her a nod before heading for the exit. 

“I’ll try not to be long,” said Glailen as he moved towards the hovercab that had dutifully waited. Vette was breaking off to start down the sidewalk, presumably in search of a market.

“I’ll try not to get into any fights.” Glailen looked back at his companion, unsure of whether she were being serious or just kidding. Likely a combination of the two. She didn’t see him though, hurrying off on her own task. Exhaling heavily through his nose, Glailen ducked down into the hovercab. He had to trust that Vette could take care of herself.

* * *

 

It wasn’t as difficult to disappear in a crowd in Kaas City as Vette had expected it to be. She learned a long time ago how not to be seen but that had been on worlds with a greater variety of sentients. Nothing like the center of the Sith Empire with its ocean of human faces. Where she had expected to be one of few non-humans in the city, there were actually quite a few beings from other species. The problem was the large majority of them were clearly slaves or at least some kind of servants. She had thought her appearance would earn her an endless stream of verbal abuse and hate-filled stares as she went about her business but that wasn’t the case. People in Kaas City were not as unused to seeing aliens as an out of towner would think. Especially when the alien was dressed like they slept on someone’s floor. 

Frowning, Vette glanced down at her clothes. They were the same torn and raggedy things she had been wearing since being captured on Korriban. When was the last time she had been able to clean them? If she reeked – and she probably did – she had become used to it some time ago. All because a bunch of imperials had caught her in a musty old tomb. Maybe her wardrobe wasn’t exactly expansive and she didn’t always keep to a regular cleaning schedule but that was her choice. Being caged like an animal was not. It was degrading to think about. Especially since it only helped to convince those around her she was a slave. Sure it helped her walk around without drawing undue attention but it still made her feel…unwelcome. 

_Of course you’re not welcome here. Don’t forget where you are._

Vette was aware of where she was. A place that should only have been referred to as ‘hostile territory’ but that wasn’t the case. She was even off to buy some groceries and new clothes in such a hostile environment. The galaxy was definitely a crazy place. 

Finding a place to purchase goods proved harder than expected. Well, finding a place wasn’t difficult but being able to actually buy anything was a problem. The first two stores Vette found had signs basically saying anyone who was not human, Sith or chiss was not welcome. After avoiding those stores Vette thought the third one she found was what she needed – no signs against her species in the window – but after taking two steps inside she was told to leave. Forcefully. They actually had security droids all but throw her out before she could get a word in. Vette was nothing if not frustrated at what seemed everything and she had been walking around for less than an hour.

Eventually she came upon an open-air market. She wondered if she would be forced to leave here as well. Could they really tell her to leave what was technically public space? _Sure they can. I’m not a person after all_ , thought Vette bitterly. Sighing, she decided to try anyway. All she really had to do was buy something to eat and something to drink so Glailen would be at least content when he got back. That was her job – though she didn’t like thinking of it that way. Better to say she was out getting something for herself and willing to get something for him as well. He was the one to provide the credits, after all. 

Vette spent some time wandering through the market. There were many vendors but finding one that sold food was proving a challenge. She came across things that she wanted but none of which was edible. Glailen had given her a task and she wanted to make sure she returned with something that he requested. He had given her his trusted. He trusted her with his credits – more than a few, in fact – and the least she could do was try to show that trust was not misplaced. Once she bought some food she could worry about other things. She made a few mental notes on where to return as she continued her search. Finally she found the section of market that sold food. Her hope piqued when, to her great surprise and equally great relief, she saw several vendors who were aliens. If she wasn’t welcomed by other aliens on Dromund Kaas then she would probably have to just give up. Glailen would have to make do with his power bars, at least until he decided to go out himself. Of course that meant Vette would have to eat them as well. 

Maybe she would keep trying if this market didn’t work out. 

Hopefully that wouldn’t be the case as she approached one of the vendors. A tall zabrak directed several droids as they moved to assist potential customers. As Vette got closer the zabrak took personal notice of her and waved her over, seeing that she was interested in his goods.

“Welcome miss, I can see you can spot quality produce from a distance. What would your master be looking for today?” Vette stiffened at the question. She shouldn’t be surprised by it. Someone thinking she was a slave was totally normal and expected in this city and she technically was here on the behest of another. An honest mistake. 

Still. 

“ _I’m_ looking for a few things – I hope you can help with that,” she said while holding up her finance card and glaring at the vendor. The zabrak’s eyes grew enormously wide for a split second before he recovered. That split second was so satisfying, though.

“Of course, of course! Don’t worry, ol’ Gunden has what you want.” The zabrak beckoned her closer, smiling for the world as though he were meeting an old friend. Smirking, Vette walked over and began eyeing what was available. 

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

 “Your shopping with have to wait, slave.” A loud and authoritative voice spoke somewhere behind Vette. She kept her eyes on what was for sale. There was no reason to assume that whoever had spoken was referring to her and looking around with a guilty expression was the best way to make other suspicious. It didn’t help that the zabrak was apparently looking at the speaker. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, slave!” Suppressing a sigh and the primal instinct to choose flight, Vette slowly turned around. There were two men, dressed like some sort of Imperial officials – police maybe? – and they were studying her with less than amused expressions.

“That’s better,” said the more talkative of the two. Vette immediately decided she didn’t like either of the men but running was not an option. This wasn’t like the streets of Nar Shadaa where she could get lost in a crowd easily while being chased. Here she absolutely stuck out like a sore thumb. Besides that, Vette couldn’t help taking notice of the crowd forming around them. Everyone stopping to see what the commotion was about and what were the chances that all these fine citizens would simply stand aside if she tried to escape? No, this was a delicate situation indeed. 

“Is there a problem, uh, officers?” 

“Where did you get those credits, slave?” He gestured to the pocket Vette had placed her finance card in but that was less important to her. She couldn’t help but be a little miffed over being presumed a slave twice in as many minutes. 

“Okay, first of all I’m not a slave.” That earned a disturbing grin from the lead officer.

“And I’m actually a Wookie learning to be a Jedi.” 

Vette shrugged, “Congratulations.” 

That turned out to be the wrong thing to say. Before Vette could react or even know what was happening, she was having her arm twisted behind her back at an angle it was not meant to go. She gasped from the pain, certain any sudden movement would mean a broken bone or two. Her eyes darted around the crowd. No one moved to intervene. Not surprising. Some, however, were actually grinning. They wanted to see an alien get what they thought it deserved. Vette was truly on her own. 

“Once more, where did you get those credits?”

“Alright, alright! Look, I’m not a slave but I work for a Sith. He gave me some credits to get some groceries for him. The kitchen’s looking kind of bare, you know?” 

“You work for a Sith but you claim to not be a slave? Who do you think–” 

“It’s the truth! I…was a slave, okay, and he took ownership of me on Korriban but shortly after he removed my collar. That’s universal for ‘you’re not a slave anymore,’ right? But I still work for him.” Neither officer looked convinced with Vette’s explanation, especially the one with the ever tightening grip on her arm. 

“And who exactly is this Sith then?” 

“Glailen. Glailen Reichscher.” The officer holding Vette glanced over at his partner who began working on a datapad. After what couldn’t have been more than a minute but certainly felt longer, the man found what he was looking for. 

“Newly raised to apprentice. One of Darth Baras’. There a mention he’s been traveling with a female twi’lek. He made a credit transfer a couple of hours ago.” The officer looked up from his datapad, meeting his partner’s eyes. 

“Checks out.” 

A moment of silence passed. 

“Come on, he said I’m not lying. Glai – uh – Lord Reichscher went on a mission for his master and told me to get something for him to eat and drink for when he gets back. I need to do this or he’ll be…upset.” Vette hated how she sounded like she was pleading. She was pleading but she _hated_ it. What other choice did she have though? She started wondering if she needed another option as the officer continued to hold her with his hands and those hate-filled eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t be enough? 

“It’s your lucky day, twi’lek,” said the lead officer as he released his hold on Vette. She immediately took a step back and had to resist the urge to rub her aching arm. She faced the men and tried to look grateful. 

“Th-thank you.” 

“Stay out of trouble.” The officer took a step closer as he spoke. It was all Vette could do not to take another step back. He leaned closer until his eyes were level with hers.

“Don’t give me a reason to come looking for you.” 

“I’ll be sure to do that.” Seemingly satisfied with Vette’s level of meekness, the officers turned and strolled away. The crowd that had gathered quickly dispersed. The entertainment was over. 

Too bad.

Vette had to bite her lip to keep from screaming.

* * *

 

Even half finished, the commissioned statue was immense in size, easily seen for kilometers around. It struck Glailen as an equally immense waste of manpower and resources and with the slaves tasked with building it in open revolt, it would be hard to dispute that opinion. Offering his opinion was not Glailen’s job, however. He was here to make sure no one knew how the revolt was able to get off the ground in the first place. All for the sake of keeping his master safe. 

From the imperial camp, Glailen stared down into the valley the statue was situated. The thick foliage made seeing anyone or anything other than treetops an impossible task. The rebels were using that to their full advantage. All ways in or out of the valley were being watched at all times by Imperial forces but actually rooting out the former slaves was another task entirely. How the people in charge wanted to go about it, Glailen didn’t know, but he did have some ideas. Of course, the less costly in Imperial lives the more destructive the option became. It all came down to how much a scene one wanted to make. Again, that wasn’t Glailen’s concern and he needed to focus.

 _Get to the mission._  

At this camp the path to the valley was over a bridge. A squad of troopers stood guard behind a barricade. Glailen approached them and was quickly noticed by the commanding officer; a middle-aged lieutenant. 

“My Lord, welcome to the edge of chaos.” That drew a raised eyebrow from Glailen. 

“Is it really as bad as all that?” he asked. The officer waved a hand to encompass the valley at his back.

“Behind me there are a lot of slaves running around without any sense of direction and shooting at anything that spooks them which is just about everything. All because they revolted against the systems of order the Empire provides. Chaos seems as good a word to use as any in my estimation.”

“Well I’m not one to shy away from a bit of danger.” Understanding swept over the lieutenant’s face.

“You mean to go in there.” It wasn’t a question, merely a statement of what they both knew to be true.

“I do.” The other man gave little away but from what Glailen could sense he was struggling with a mounting exasperation. Perhaps Glailen was not the first to disregard to general order for none to enter the valley. The lieutenant was, however, apparently not interested in arguing the point. 

“I can’t stop you and I won’t try but it’s my duty to inform you that beyond this point you will be on your own. No help will be available.” 

“Consider me warned,” replied Glailen, unconcerned. He was just about to walk past the troopers when he noticed the lieutenant appear to hesitate with a decision. Glailen stopped and trained his gaze on the other man, content to wait a minute if that’s what it took. That helped the lieutenant reach a decision.

“I would also be remiss if I failed to mention we’ve noticed odd behaviour.” 

“Odd how?” asked Glailen, curious. Any recon he could get before entering hostile territory was worth hearing. 

“A group of slaves – or maybe it’s just one, we’re not sure – have been performing some sort of ritualistic killings on other slaves. We don’t know why but we do know they are savage acts by disturbed minds. Whoever is behind the killings is dangerous. Maybe even to a Sith.” Glailen looked from the lieutenant to the valley below and then back again. If the killings were indeed bad enough the other man thought it worth warning a Sith – even an apprentice – then Glailen would take it to heart. He had no intention of dying to a deranged slave. 

“I appreciate the information, Lieutenant.” 

“Good luck, my Lord.”

Glailen nodded to the officer and then he was moving past the squad. As he walked across the bridge the forest seemed to loom up and glare at him, daring him to enter. Inside he would find hundreds of armed rebels if not more but he would also find a killer. The thought of being stalked through those dense trees was enough to convince Glailen to keep his sense sharp but he wouldn’t worry over much. He survived Korriban. What could the trees hide that were worse than what the Sith home world had to offer?

* * *

 

The walk back to the apartment was longer than Vette had expected. She had gone further from the building than she thought she had or maybe it just felt longer because she was lugging around all the stuff she’d bought. She tried to focus on how tired she was getting, or on how annoyed she was with people staring, or how embarrassed she was with what happened at the market. She was even willing to think about how angry she was – anything but how scared she was. Sure, she knew what was likely to happen to her in Kaas city but knowing what could happen and actually experiencing it were two different things. It was real now. It would probably again. 

Of course it would happen again. 

Thus far the return walk had been without any rude interruptions but Vette was convinced she wouldn’t feel safe until she was locked away in the apartment Glailen’s very Sith boss had got for him. Maybe things would be better when she was wearing some of the new clothes she’d bought for herself. It wasn’t too much, just enough for a couple of days without wearing the same thing. If she was being honest with herself then the fresh looking clothes probably wouldn’t do anything to convince anyone she wasn’t a slave but at least she wouldn’t have to look it. 

 _Glailen said I could get some clothes so that’s what I did. No more rags for me, thanks. Not like there’s a whole lot I can do around here anyone. Might as well look better than I feel._  

By the time she finally found Lord Haits Towers she was tired enough to drop down for a well-earned nap and her nerves were driving her crazy. The same clerk was behind the front desk when she walked in. He frowned as he watched her walk from the door to the nearest lift. She gave him her meanest glare as the doors slid shut, separating the two of them before she lost it. Attacking some guy with a high opinion of himself would definitely get her in trouble but the satisfaction probably would have been worth it. 

 _Asshole, how was your day? Mine? Oh, you know, just getting assaulted in public because I don’t have hair on my head. Yeah, no, I didn’t think you would know what that’s like. Asshole._  

Groaning, Vette leaned back against the wall of the lift. She couldn’t think of a good reason to keep holding the bags with all her stuff in it so she let them drop to the floor. Rubbing a hand over her eyes, she tried to let go of her frustration. Getting angry was not going to help her. It had yet to harm the people making her angry in any way so it was therefore not helping her. Maybe, once she’d made something decent to eat, she would feel better. As though to add its agreement, her stomach chose that moment to growl its demands. _Yup, food sounds nice._

The lift came to a sudden stop and the doors opened. Sighing, Vette scrambled to gather up her bags and jump out before the doors decided to close. After some reluctant shuffling steps, Vette found their apartment. Room 1423. Would have been nice to getting something closer to the ground but there was nothing to be done for it. A swipe of her keycard – an awkward action while holding so many bags – and the door opened. She took two steps inside and dropped all of the bags. _Should have just dropped them outside so using the card would have been easier. Stupid. Tired. Stupid because tired._ Vette allowed that line of thought to die away as she took a good look around. The place was…nice. Certainly the nicest place she would sleep in since Goddess knew how long. 

It was lightly furnished which surprised Vette but she wouldn’t complain. Sleeping on a bed or couch was better than the floor. The kitchen was a good size, not too small or big. Cozy, one might say. In the living room there was a vidscreen and a sectional couch shaped like a T facing it. One could lie back, put their feet up and watch something while struggling valiantly not to fall asleep. Vette had to admit the idea was appealing. She walked over to the street side wall which was actually just one big window. Leaning against it, she looked down and down to the street below. It was hard to make anyone out and the closest building of similar height was a few blocks away. She couldn’t see any one and if she couldn’t see them then they couldn’t see her. Maybe she could forget about where she was now and then. Perhaps being on the fourteenth floor wasn’t the worst thing. 

Back at the doorway, she placed her hands on her hips while staring at the bags left on the floor. She wondered if, given one or two hours, she would find the inspiration to put everything away. That was wishful thinking at its finest though and she knew it. Grudgingly she set about organizing everything. It didn’t actually take that long and Vette soon found herself standing around wondering what she should or could do next. She could take that nap she wanted, she could take it while watching something on the vidscreen. What about making something to eat like her stomach wanted? That was a good idea too. It was weird having so much to do but none of it urgent and all while standing in a pretty good apartment too. When had her life gotten so…different? 

The answer to that was obvious. 

She looked out the wall-window again. Was that even the direction Glailen had gone in? Didn’t matter that much. Vette couldn’t help wondering what he was up to and if he was alright. Whether or not he came back in one piece had a huge impact on what would happen to her next but it was more than that. The thought of him dying out there alone was…Even if he was out there to kill people who just wanted their freedom from the Sith Empire, she didn’t think he deserved such an end.

Shaking her head, Vette turned away. _You’re worrying over nothing, girl. He can take care of himself. Just gotta stay busy so your head doesn’t wander._ Taking her own advice, Vette pulled out her blasters and placed them on the couch. She bought some cleaning equipment for them and she couldn’t remember the last time she gave them a good cleaning so that was as good a place to start as any.

* * *

 

Thunder boomed overhead. It was going to rain but it hadn’t started yet. Glailen hoped it would stave off long enough for him to complete his mission but he knew it was wishful thinking. Night, on the other hand, did not hesitate to visit and that he could use well to hide his presence as he searched. The valley was large and while he knew the faces of the people he was after he didn’t know where exactly to look. What he needed was someone who knew where he should look. 

He had been trained to track in terrain like that he found himself in and that was before he learned how to use the Force. Together they made finding someone – especially someone not worried with being found – a simple thing. Finding someone in particular was harder and that was what Glailen needed help with. With that in mind he reached out with the Force in search of anyone. After an hour or two he finally sensed several people grouped together. Despite the size of the valley, Glailen didn’t think it would take so long to find anyone but he didn’t dwell on it.

Before long he came upon the group he had sensed. There were four of them; two men and two women, human, sitting around a fire. They talked and laughed – loudly. Simply put they made no effort to hide their presence. Glailen couldn’t help but get a feeling of scorn from the sight. He certainly didn’t believe he would feel any empathy for the group if a team of Imperial troopers descended on them that very moment. They carried on seemingly without a care in the world. It was almost as though they were simply out enjoying a camping trip but that wasn’t the case. They were part of a rebellious group, surrounded by a hostile force. Luckily for them, Glailen’s own mission did not require he ruin their evening. Not necessarily, anyway. For the moment he only watched, still as stone and silent as death. 

Eventually one of them would have to wander away from the fire to conduct private business. Glailen was only concerned with how long he would have to wait. Of course he would wait as long as was required but he didn’t want to be out all night if it could be helped. Thankfully he didn’t have long to wait before one of the men stood and excused himself before walking off into the woods, in search of a discreet spot. Glailen circled around, intending to come up behind the man. He gave a wide berth while keeping an eye on his target. He moved quickly but remained quiet, disturbing no brush and avoiding fallen sticks. During his training he had found this part difficult. With his bulk he simply didn’t believe he was suited for silent deployment so close to a target but regardless he had learned how. Then he learned how to use the Force. Now it was a simple thing, especially against someone not expecting to be taken by surprise.

The man was just finishing fastening up his trousers when Glailen snuck up behind him. He clasped a hand over the man’s mouth, keeping a tight grip to prevent the man from biting in retaliation; at the same time sticking the hilt of his lightsaber into his back. Initially the man struggled frantically but his movements slowed as he realized something hard was pointed at his lower back. Though he no longer struggled, the man’s breathing was frantic and his fear was thick in the air. He wanted to keep fighting, Glailen could sense it, but he was smart enough to understand if he were going to die it would have happened already. That was what Glailen had been hoping for. 

“Shhhh,” whispered Glailen, trying to soothe the other man’s mind. Slowly his breathing steadied. 

“I’m going to take my hand away and you’re going to remain silent. If you don’t then I am going to kill you, then I’m going to kill your friends and then I’ll go look for someone more cooperative.” Glailen tried to not to show his hesitation as he loosened his grip. He hadn’t lied, he would make sure no one got in his way or escaped to warn others, but he didn’t want to have to go through this process with someone else if it could be avoided. The man was completely still as Glailen pulled his hand away, as though afraid the slightest movement would be his death. A moment passed with the man making no move or sound, satisfying Glailen. 

“Good. Every uprising has its leaders; tell me where I can find them.” 

“I don’t know,” croaked the man, unable to keep the fear from his voice. Glailen didn’t have time for sympathy. 

“Think on it,” he demanded. The man’s worry spiked.

“I mean it. I’ve seen a few of them but that’s all. When they call we come, that’s what we do but we don’t know where they sleep or anything.” The man’s head began to droop low until his chin was touching his chest. 

“Not that they call very often. We’re basically waiting around, enjoying what little freedom we have before the Empire decides to kill us all.” 

 _At least they’re not all ignorant of their reality_ , thought Glailen. The man was continuing to speak and Glailen was content to allow it. He felt a weakness in the man that could be exploited to get what he needed. 

“Not all of us wanted any part of this uprising but the others,” he paused, searching for the words, “they think anyone who doesn’t fight must be an Imperial sympathizer. Then they kill you. Seen it happen a few times. Had to go along with everyone else.” After a heartbeat, Glailen took a calculated risk as he lowered his lightsaber. Immediately he felt the shock run through the man’s sense but he didn’t attempt to run. Good. 

“You don’t owe them anything. Tell me where I can find some of the leaders – I don’t need all of them – and I’ll leave you alone.” 

“But I really don’t know!” The man all but shouted while repeating himself. Frowning, Glailen glanced towards the small camp but neither heard nor sensed any indication that someone had heard. He returned his attention to the man from whom could be sensed worry and embarrassment. He knew he had nearly cost himself and the others their lives. Instead of reprimanding the man, Glailen stuck with the more important issue. 

“Maybe you don’t know explicitly but I’m sure you have some ideas. You know the area better than I do; where would they go? Think of somewhere defensible for instance.”

“Defensible? I don’t know about that…” His words trailed off. The former slave was trying to the best of his knowledge to recall anything that Glailen could use. Glailen would have been disappointed if this wasn’t what he wanted. An uprising without any loyalty among its members, however, was doomed to fail. In all, it just showed how pointless it all was. 

 _Unless someone asked Darth Baras about it._  

“But you know,” the man spoke up, “they did tell everyone to stay away from the base of the statue. They said something about it being a symbol of our oppression but some of the guys are guessing it’s because that’s where our leaders like to hang out. You could try there?” 

“Yes, that will do,” said Glailen, satisfied he had what he needed. He sensed no deception from the man as he apparently believed what he was saying. 

“So you’ll leave me alone then?” asked the man hopefully, although he sensed as though he believed it equally likely Glailen would go back on his word. Perhaps some – most – Sith would but the man would find himself surprised. 

“Count to ten and once you’re finished, go back to your friends. This conversation never happened. Act like nothing out of the ordinary happened and everything will be fine.”

“Okay, yeah. Yeah.” After backing away a few steps, Glailen turned and broke into a sprint. He was sure to remain as quiet as possible but he also wanted to be well on his way before the man had a chance to break their deal. It seemed unlikely the man would intentionally give away what had happened but at the same time Glailen didn’t think they could hold up under even friendly questioning. 

With a destination in mind, Glailen felt more determined to get the job done. He was sure to be as silent as possible, however, for the closer he got to the statue the more people he could sense in the surrounding area. They were not his goal. Now that he didn’t need them, finding rebels was an easy thing. Avoiding them was easy. Much like the group Glailen had just left, the scattered rebels were not expecting anything special to happen on this night. They didn’t have much to fear either if the Imperial camp Glailen had visited was any indicator. The Empire had no plans for an offensive that he had seen but perhaps the fight was taking place in a different part of the valley. If not then he could only conclude that both sides were not taking the situation seriously. 

After some time Glailen reached the base of the statue but could see no one right away. He didn’t go right up to the monolith but instead kept a discreet distance as he began to circle around. Before he decided he’d made the trip for nothing, he had to check the whole area. It was only a short time before he heard multiple voices through the night air. Whoever it was, they were an even more raucous group than the first. Glailen approached cautiously; after everything he’d encountered thus far he doubted this group was taking any precautions against intruders but being careless himself was foolish. He would take advantage of their mistakes but refused to fall to them as well.

The camp was situated in a large clearing with a couple of fires lighting the area. With a quick count Glailen could see there were a dozen rebels sitting around, eating, drinking and laughing without a care for tomorrow. It wasn’t hard to get a good look at their faces. Most he didn’t recognize but a few of them were definitely from the file Baras had given him. He didn’t make his move right away, however, for he also noticed there were children. Four that he could see, all boys and no more than ten years of age. That wasn’t odd really; there were tasks children were well suited for such as small spaces a grown man wouldn’t be able to reach. Although, the children didn’t appear to be enjoying the semblance of freedom the rebelling slaves had gained. 

A couple of the boys were carrying jugs of drink and walking amongst the adults, filling up empty cups. The other two were pushed by one of the rebels into an opening near one of the fires. With wide eyes they stood shakily at the center of attention. A moment later the rebel who put them on the spot handed a vibroknife to each. They hesitated but the man forced the knives into their hands. He turned them to face each other and then joined his fellows in the circle they’d formed.  

A minute passed with nothing happening except a couple of frightened boys trying to make themselves disappear. The fear Glailen felt from them was nearly overpowering but the rebels couldn’t feel it. Of course, only someone completely oblivious or uncaring to the pain of others could miss the anguish in the boys’ faces. Clearly the surrounding men were not interested in how a couple of kids felt. Annoyed and irritated mutters started replacing amusement. 

“Come on, you know what to do!” Still the boys hesitated but it was only a matter of time. Eventually one of them would become more scared of the adults than of hurting the other – or being hurt in return. Indeed, all it took was for the rebel who gave them the knives to get back up with a clenched fist. One of the boys suddenly lunged at the other. It was awkward and accompanied with a scream that was more terror than anything else. He slashed with his knife and was rewarded with a shallow gash across the other boy’s left arm. The other boy howled in pain but the spell of fear was broken and they struck back. Now the two kids were swinging their weapons clumsily at each other, hoping to score the crucial hit without having to risk more than their arms. 

Glailen couldn’t help but glare at the sight. He wondered how many kids had to get hurt so that they could learn what to do when handed a vibroknife. How many of them had been hurt so bad they wouldn’t learn anything ever again? Before he could dwell too much on that thought, his attention was caught by one of the men getting up and pulling one of the two serving boys away. The fear that came from the boy matched that of the two fighting but it was mixed with despair. A knowing grief. Perhaps this was something else the kids knew about. Glailen’s curiosity only grew as he watched the pair move further away from the light of the fires, escaping sight. After another glance at the little melee taking place, Glailen decided to go after the wandering pair. 

When he caught up with them, coming in from the side, his first sight forced a low hiss from his bared teeth. They were in a small clearing. The man had dropped his pants. He was pushing the boy’s head into the ground and pulling away his pants as well. With the garments out of the way the rebel’s hand went to his waist and began stroking. Preparing himself. Of course the boy resisted as he waited for the seemingly inevitable but his struggle was feeble against someone so much larger. 

The man was ready after a few seconds, the anticipation proving overwhelming. He slapped the boy’s exposed flank. 

“Squirm or don’t, makes no difference to me but it’ll hurt you more,” he stated in a tone far too casual.

Then he was pushing forward.

Glailen was across the clearing and standing next to the kneeling man before he even realized he was moving. The man had enough time to turn his head before a gloved fist slammed into this face. He flew to the ground with a grunt but he had no time to say anything else before he was lifted by unseen hands and thrown back towards the camp. He almost made it all the way before clipping a tree and spinning through the air and crashing among the gathered rebels. Every one sprang to their feet in alarm and confusion. They were yelling at each other but Glailen didn’t register what was said. All he could understand was the Force wrapped around him and his desire – no, his need for blood. He stalked towards them. The half-naked rebel gained enough coherency to point where Glailen was coming from screaming a warning even as he began crawling away. 

“Who’s there?” one of them called. Weapons, blasters and knives, were produced. Glailen marched into the light of the fires. At his side his lightsaber hissed to life. A dozen pairs of eyes widened with fear. 

“Sith!” 

The reactions fell under two categories; some stood frozen, unsure of whether or not to fight, and others had reached the decision to run away. They would not get the chance. Glailen threw out a hand, feeling the Force latch onto the four attempting to escape, and pulled back. The four flew back through the air with screams of terror. As they landed amongst their fellows, those still standing found their courage. Blaster fire erupted in the night, mixing with shouts of defiance. With an almost effortless ease, Glailen deflected or dodged around the blaster bolts. This wasn’t like on the Black Talon or Brentaal Star. Glailen felt a connection to the Dark Side he had obtained only a handful of times before. With such power he couldn’t be stopped. Nothing could resist his judgement.

At an unhurried walk, Glailen advanced on his victims. A stray bolt struck a rebel square in the gut. He folded in on himself before dropping dead. Another threw his blaster to the ground and rushed in with a pair of vibroknives. Glailen’s movements were a blur as he first severed the man’s hands and then slashed across his throat. He fell to his knees, desperately trying to breath. With a wide slash, two more rebels were felled by a lightsaber carving through their ill-protected flesh. Seeing several of their number fall so easily, the remaining rebels began to lose their resolve. Glailen sensed it and knew they would try running again. Before they could make that choice he dashed forward. He moved too fast for them to follow, creating chaos as he went. Reaching on man he was separate their screaming head from weak body, another and he drove his lightsaber through a heaving chest, a third made the mistake of blinking and found their abdomen cut open when their eyes opened. To describe what happened as a fight would have been generous. A slaughter was a more apt description. Glailen was more inclined to say it was satisfying. But all too quickly it was over. 

As the red haze cleared from his mind, Glailen took calming breaths to steady his breathing. Less than a minute had passed. The dead littered the camp. None had escaped.

A figure sprang away out of the corner of Glailen’s eye. Instantly he reached out a hand and grabbed the fleeing rebel, slamming him to the ground and pulling him back to stop at his feet. With a last move of fighting back the rebel pushed up to a knee and threw his arm wide at the Sith. Glailen caught the man’s wrist, keeping the shaking vibroblade from reaching his gut, and swiped at that arm with his lightsaber. The blade cut easily through the bicep but Glailen was careful not to sever the limb entirely. Even with immense pain the man attempted to stand up and run. Before he could take a single step Glailen swung low and his weapon burned across the rebel’s calves. He fell to the ground as though someone had shut off control to his legs.

The rush of battle was over. It was an effort for the Sith to calm his breathing. Glailen took a moment to listen to the man scream. He tried to crawl away with his one good limb but wasn’t getting very far very quickly. Cocking his head to the side, Glailen reached out with the Force. He didn’t look for fear, he searched for confusion, curiosity. It wasn’t hard to find. 

“Come here.” 

Glailen hadn’t intended for the command to come out as a growl but his blood was still up for the killing. He waited patiently, sensing the others weren’t fleeing from him just yet. Slowly, with great hesitation, the four boys appeared from their hiding places. With reluctance, almost as though they couldn’t control their own movements, they walked over to stand a couple meters from Glailen. He turned to face them as they did. A quick glance showed one of the boys had kept the vibroknife he had been given. Using the Force, Glailen plucked three knives from the surrounding debris. Seeing the knives floating through the air brought fresh waves of fear from the boys but again they didn’t run. Maybe their fear had paralyzed them to the spot or it could be they didn’t believe they could escape if this dark avenger before them wanted their lives. The knives hovered before the three boys with free hands, handle first. 

“The four of you must have suffered a great deal at the hands of these men,” said Glailen in a low tone. None of the boys responded but they didn’t have to. He gestured to the only living rebel. 

“He’s yours if you want him.”

All at once the four boys gaped in shock; a couple took a step back. Wide eyes shifted from him to the rebel and back again several times. Perhaps they were trying to decide who they feared more. Even in his weakened state, the rebel had a sway over them. Memories could prove unbreakable chains as Glailen well knew. He waited for them to decide and let them do so on their own. If they were to trust him – as he hoped they would – then he couldn’t push them to make such a decision. All he would do was stand by and simply be there. What they would take from his presence was up to them. 

The rebel had heard Glailen’s words even through all his pain. He was saying something – yelling at his assailant and the boys. Glailen didn’t really hear him with his full attention on the boys. The kids kept looking at him, at this Sith who had come in and changed their lives. What were they seeing? What did they hope to find? Glailen didn’t know but he decided he could wait all night if he had to. 

Finally one of the boys moved. He was the one who kept his knife from earlier and the same one to attack first when ordered to. It was clear that at his core he was a fighter. Walking towards the rebel, he held the knife at arm’s length as though expecting the rebel to suddenly leap up and attack. All the rebel did was shout even louder. 

Two more of the children made the same choice, plucking a knife from the air each and stalking towards their wounded prey. Only the boy who had been taken aside into the night remained frozen in place. He practically quivered with indecision. Glailen sensed the turmoil inside of him. So much fear but it wasn’t alone, crashing again and again against a wall of hate. He wanted to tear into his abuser but found it difficult to actually take that step. Sometimes, when the hurt is bad enough, it’s hard to believe that you can be strong against someone who made you weak. 

Glailen opened his mouth to speak. The boy screamed. It wasn’t from terror but from rage. He rushed forward, taking the final knife, and leapt onto the rebel. Slashing and screaming, he left his mark. The other three boys were stunned for an instant but then hurried to join. Suddenly the rebel didn’t have it in him to yell obscenities at the kids. All he could do was add his own scream to theirs. 

Inexperienced, the boys slashed with their knives instead of stabbing. Their attacks left dozens of cuts varying in size on the man’s body. His agony was prolonged as a result. Maybe the boys had actually done it intentionally. 

When it was all over, when the body stopped twitching and the boys had exhausted themselves cutting away at the meat, Glailen walked closer to stand over the their handiwork. His appearance got the boys’ attention and they stepped away, lining up before him. The Sith glanced down at the scene. They had worked hard to make sure no one would be able to recognize the rebel. Their chests heaved with a combination of exertion and adrenaline. Glailen studied them, they were covered in blood but none of it was theirs. Shaking eyes stared back at him. This wasn’t the fear from before. What they had seen – what they had seen themselves do, that couldn’t be taken back. 

Glailen couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done the right thing. The thought quickly left him though. For what he was, Glailen had done the only thing he could for them. It was, he thought, what he had hoped someone could give him all those years ago. 

“The pain won’t go away but now you know you can be strong.”

Almost in unison the boys turned their gazes to what they had done. As they did so Glailen had to think of what he should do now. Let them go so they could try and survive the inevitable move by the Empire. Take them with him? That was crazy thinking; he couldn’t look after four kids. He could barely look after himself. So what did that leave? Bring them back to the Imperial camp so they could go back to being what they were. Was that really the best choice? 

_‘We couldn’t leave a kid behind.’_

Glailen winced. 

No. No matter what, he couldn’t leave them behind by themselves. Even together. They were just kids. He licked his lips and tried to find his voice. 

“I can’t take responsibility for you but I can bring you back to the authorities.” Glailen spoke slowly, testing each word. His words, understandably, captured the attention of the boys. 

“You’ll be made slaves again,” he paused, waved a hand at the trees around them, “or you take your chances out there.” 

A second ago Glailen was sure how he would answer in their position but as the words came out he found himself doubting. Would he rather be free or made into a slave? He didn’t know first-hand what it was like to be one but there was a reason people generally didn’t want to become one. Then again, surely trying to survive in this valley or escape it was akin to suicide. None of the boys answered right away and Glailen couldn’t envy their position.

They had his sympathies but, contrary to his earlier stance, he didn’t have forever to let them think it over. If he were being honest, he was done with this valley and wanted to be gone. He sensed nothing decisive from the boys. They looked at their feet, at each other, at the trees – anywhere but him. Well, maybe he could force a move from them. 

“It’s your choice.” 

Without warning Glailen turned away from the boys and left the camp. He could feel their sudden apprehension as he got further away, rising to panic. Instead of looking back he kept moving forward. In their hearts they had already made their choice. Now all they had to do was show it. 

He didn’t have to wait long before the sound of rushing feet behind him became undeniable. As he spun around he was faced with the four boys coming to an abrupt stop. He stared back at them questioningly. They shared a few quick glances, apparently deciding who should talk first, when finally one, the one who had been cut first, stepped forward. 

“They’ll make us work again,” he said. Glailen nodded. 

“They will.” 

Again the boys shared a look.

“But they’ll give us a home. Feed us.”

There it was. Basic needs were a powerful bargaining chip. Against a roof over one’s head, or knowing where the next meal would come from, what could be weighed? Freedom was something people liked to strive for but it lost a great deal of its glow when the stomach became an empty pit. Glailen exhaled a sigh through his nose. 

“Yes.” 

There was no silent debate this time. Instead the boys stood ready to follow, their expressions showing a resolve that made everything clear to Glailen. He turned and led the way. 

It was slow going for the group to make their way through the valley. Glailen was no longer on his own but had four kids trailing him. He had to slow down considerably in order for them to keep up. They didn’t complain though, nor did they make much noise. Instead of talking they kept their mouths shut, tapping one another on the shoulder when needing to get their attention, and they knew enough not to step on every twig lying on the ground. Glailen had to admit he was glad for it, they were still deep in hostile territory and he didn’t want to find out if he could keep them safe if attacked. 

Despite that, it was Glailen who would take a risk. 

As they walked a very seldom used trail, something caught Glailen’s attention. He cocked his head to the side as though listening but he was reaching out with the Force, trying to pinpoint what he was sensing. It was odd. Not something he expected to find in a valley filled with rebellious slaves. He addressed the boys. 

“There’s something I need to investigate. Wait here. I’ll be back soon.”

The boys wanted to protest or at least say something but Glailen was gone before they could muster the courage. Where he was going would be too dangerous for them – at least if what he sensed turned out to be true. Furthermore, they would surely be fine by themselves for a short time. He only planned to be a few minutes.

Before long he spotted someone, a large figure standing next to a tree with their back to Glailen. They were staring at something propped up against the tree. Without warning the figure turned and dashed away. Glailen didn’t think they had noticed his approach but he was suspicious nonetheless and kept his gaze on where he lost sight of them. He came to the tree where he saw the figure and learned what they had been staring at. Lying against the tree was a human female and she was quite dead by the unnatural angle of her neck. What interested Glailen, however, was the shallow gouge marks across the neck that almost resembled…claw marks? A peculiar find that only added to the Sith’s curiosity. 

It occurred to Glailen that he might have found a victim of the savage slave he had been warned about. Resolved to learn the truth, he took off in the direction of the figure. They had a head start on him but hadn’t gone far enough to escape his senses and they also didn’t bother hiding their path. Glailen tracked them with ease for which he was thankful. He didn’t want this to take too long. After a few moments it became clear his target had even stopped moving. That encouraged Glailen to approach with more caution. 

As he got close, Glailen began to make out voices that only grew louder the closer he got. Maybe the savage was in fact a group of murderous slaves. But when he arrived at the scene he only had more questions. Staying hidden, Glailen saw a group of four human slaves surrounding and closing in on another slave. The only in the middle held Glailen’s interest; a dark-furred cathar standing well over six feet and thick with muscle. Though outnumbered and surrounded, the cathar didn’t appear overly worried but more daring the others to make a move. 

“On our way to becoming Sith, every kill strengthens our ties with the Dark Side.” The rebel who spoke stepped closer, brandishing a knife and pointing it at the cathar. Glailen couldn’t deny the rebel in question was nearly as intimidating in appearance as the cathar. He was just as large, bald but with a series of scars crisscrossing his face, and had the eyes of a killer. The one he carried himself spoke of confidence. Still, he was only nearly as intimidating. The cathar had an advantage but Glailen doubted the other slaves were yet aware of it. 

“There is little to be gained from killing an alien but still,” the rebel suddenly reversed his grip on the knife, “there’s something!” All at once the four rebels converged on their prey. Glailen watched, wondering if they would be shown to be the hunted. 

The scarred man, the only one with a weapon, was the most eager for the kill. He rushed in first and lunged with the knife. At the last possible second the cathar reacted, catching the outstretched arm and twisting his hips to flip the large man onto the ground. Another quick twist and the man released knife with a pained grunt. There was no time to follow up before the other three were upon the cathar.

With quick precise movements the cathar fought back. He kicked at the knee of one man causing them to drop to a kneeling position, then he turned and push-kicked another rebel. The cathar then whipped around, swiping his hand across the four man’s face. Screaming, the man backed away while clutching at his face. Blood oozed out between his fingers. The cathar appeared in the habit of utilizing his claws. Even as Glailen registered that piece of information, the cathar turned his attention to the kneeling man and plunged his thumbs into the man’s eyes. The screams that came seemed enough to wake the dead in Glailen’s mind. Struggling was no good, the cathar’s were large trunks of hard muscle that wouldn’t budge against frantic slaps. When the cathar finally pulled away the man fell back to the ground, writhing in an agony that wouldn’t go away. By that time the scarred man was back on his feet and had retrieved his knife. He was more cautious with his advance the second time but only marginally so. If anything he seemed unable to accept an alien as a credible threat. 

Before the scarred man could take more than a couple of steps, the cathar rushed to meet him. He caught the knife hand in his left and twisted. The man wouldn’t release his grip so easy but that move was only done to control the weapon. The cathar used his free hand to send a chopping blow against the side of the man’s neck, stunning him, before pulling back and slamming his elbow down on the elbow of the trapped limb. This time the man couldn’t keep his hold on the knife and it fell from treacherous fingers. With the weapon out of the way, the cathar unleashed a series of blows. Glailen’s eyes widened at what he saw for the attacks were not the blunt attacks he had expected. They were precise strikes that came from a trained fighter. Staggering back, the scarred man was unable to form a defense against the combination of speed and power. Dazed, the scarred man stood on wobbly legs as the cathar paused his assault only to step forward and drive his forehead against the man’s nose. The man dropped heavily to his knees. 

The third man had recovered and threw themselves upon his foe, trying to lock in a chokehold. Before he could, the cathar drove a hard elbow into his side that sent him stumbling back. Immediately the cathar was on him, diving at the man’s legs and the pair tumbled down. They rolled around on the ground for a second before the cathar was back on his feet and holding one of the man’s legs. From there it was easy to hyperextend the joint and more screaming filled the air. The fourth man had mustered the will to keep fighting despite the damage done to his face. Running at the cathar was the wrong choice, however, as it ended with a heavy blow falling across his head. The punch nearly dropped the man but before he could decide if he would fall or stand the cathar grabbed a handful of the man’s shirt and threw him back to the ground.

With all of his assailants down, the cathar turned to the scarred man. The cathar lifted his arms and suddenly all but the scarred man were lifted from the ground by invisible hands around their throats. He let them dangle in the air, clawing for air, before closing his hands into fists. The three men shuddered for an instant and then ceased their struggles. The cathar released his hold and the bodies dropped lifelessly. With fear and awe, the scarred man looked at this monster staring down at him. His mouth dropped open, trying to bring forth sound. The cathar reached out a hand and the vibroknife flew to his grip. 

“You’re Sith…” 

The knife plunged into the scarred man’s chest. 

“And you’re not,” growled the cathar. He released his hold on the weapon and stepped back. The man fell on his side and didn’t stir. Then, slowly, the cathar’s head turned and he stared – straight at Glailen.

The first thought to go through the Sith’s mind was that it wasn’t possible for the cathar to know where he was. That thought was quickly turned away when, an instant later, he remembered what he had just seen. Clearly there was more to the cathar just as Glailen had sensed. Realizing there was no point in trying conceal himself anymore, Glailen stepped out from his hiding place. As he did so his hand brushed against his lightsaber; subconsciously reassuring him that the weapon was still at his side. His pulse quickened as he met the cathar’s eyes but whether from fear or excitement he couldn’t say. Likely it was a mixture of both but one would win out in the coming minutes. 

Glailen walked closer, unhurried in his stride, projecting an air of almost disinterest, until he was a few meters away then he stopped. He had seen the cathar move. A few meters should be enough if things took an exciting turn. Both men stared at each other for some time. Finally, Glailen elected to take the first step. 

“An impressive display.” 

Still the cathar said nothing. He stood so completely still, the only sign that he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. Even so, that menacing stare was hard not to take personally. Glailen cocked his head to the side. 

“I wasn’t expecting to encounter another Sith in this place.” 

“And you haven’t. Officially.” The sudden rumbling reply caught Glailen by surprise but he caught the hint. 

“Of course. I think we have an understanding in that regard,” he said with a pointed look. A low growl came from the throat of the cathar which Glailen decided to take for agreement. 

“I was warned about some particularly violent slaves running around. Appears I’ve found them.” With a wave of his hand, Glailen indicated the corpses littered around them. The cathar’s eyes narrowly slightly and he took a single step closer. Glailen couldn’t help but tense up from the movement. 

“Is that why you were following me? You thought I was the one responsible for the killings?” The irritated accusations gave Glailen pause. He hadn’t expected the cathar to sound almost…offended. 

It hit Glailen like a punch when he believed he realized why the cathar was being defensive. Glailen was human and he was an alien in the Sith Empire. He was thinking Glailen had assumed he was the savage slave just because of his species. A dangerous situation to be in with someone the young Sith didn’t need to know personally to figure was not short on personal pride. Such an obvious thing to pick up on in retrospect. Vette would have been disappointed at him for being slow to catch on. 

“The first time I saw you was earlier,” stated Glailen carefully, “when you had just finished killing that woman. You left in a hurry after you were done.” The cathar seemed to stop and consider what Glailen said, looking away as he did. 

“She was one of them, trying to lure me to her companions.” Refocusing on Glailen, the cathar tilted its head in a gesture that looked more menacing than curious.

“You didn’t happen upon me here. You were following me. I could sense it.” Suspicion dripped from the cathar’s words. Glailen shrugged nonchalantly. 

“You’re not the only one who can sense things through the Force. Curiosity drew me to you, a cathar on Dromund Kaas with a distant feeling of the Dark Side. Unusual.” Daringly, the cathar advanced on Glailen in response to his words. He stopped with only a couple of feet separating them. It took a deliberate effort from Glailen to keep his hands from clenching into fists or, for that matter, a hand reaching for his lightsaber. The cathar didn’t appear to carry the weapon of choice for Sith but just because Glailen couldn’t see it didn’t mean it wasn’t there. It also didn’t mean Glailen would hesitate to use his own even if the cathar didn’t have one. Closer now, the cathar studied him for a moment.

“Does it bother you to find a cathar with a greater understanding of the Dark Side than yourself?” 

 _Greater Understanding? That remains to be seen._  

“Not at all,” replied Glailen smoothly. 

The cathar’s bright eyes narrowed at the response. Despite the urge to rise to the challenge, Glailen held back. He knew the cathar was less interested in who was stronger and more in whether he was speaking with someone holding to traditional Sith ideas. A topic of debate seemingly unavoidable among Sith. In regards to which side they stood on, Glailen imagined they thought more or less along the same lines. Glailen stood impassively as he waited for the other Sith to reach some mental decision. He didn’t have to wait long. 

“Good,” said the cathar in an almost whisper tone. He turned and marched away, apparently ending the conversation for both of them. It was just as well. Glailen had the idea the cathar was not one for enjoying interactions with other Sith. Or maybe other sentients in general.

Taking his eyes away from the retreating cathar, Glailen began retracing his steps through the woods. Before long he realized he had allowed his curiosity to guide him further than he had thought. Even so he was able to find his way back to where he had ordered the children to wait. As he approached the fallen tree he found the boys were nowhere to be seen. He walked slowly up to the tree stump and stopped, standing completely still as he reached out with his senses in search of the boys. 

A moment passed. 

Another. 

Grass shifted behind Glailen. So silent he wouldn’t have heard it without the Force to enhance his hearing. He looked back to find the boys gathering together at his back. They had hidden themselves well. A fact that impressed Glailen. He hesitated a second before diving in. 

“You know how to stay safe.” It was a compliment. It was meant to be a compliment. Even to Glailen’s ears, however, it fell well short of what it could have – should have – been. Despite the lack luster effort applied by Glailen, the boys actually stood straighter after hearing his words. It was enough. 

“Let’s go.”

Reaching the bridge was uneventful which was just as well. Glailen wanted to be done with this valley. The boys held back a moment before following Glailen over the bridge. They were worried about what would happen next, he understood that. He would make sure they were safe. It was the least he could do. 

“You’ve returned, my Lord. Unharmed by the looks of it.” The lieutenant from earlier was still guarding the bridge. He didn’t look at all tired so maybe he rotated out and then back on during the time Glailen was away. The Sith stopped in front of the officer. 

“A stroll in the woods, Lieutenant, nothing more.” The other man nodded but his eyes drifted down and looked behind Glailen. 

“Except you haven’t returned alone.” Stepping aside, Glailen removed the cover the boys had been using to avoid notice though it hadn’t worked. They clustered together, hoping to find if not safety then at least comfort in a group. 

“These boys are willingly returning to the Empire. They understand they will return to slavery and in return I have assured them they will be treated fairly.” 

“I understand, my Lord. Rest assured I will ensure their reintegration into the system goes smoothly.” 

“They’ll be strong when they grow up and the Empire needs strong hands to continue building it up.” As he spoke the lieutenant coxed the boys to start walking with him. 

“For the Empire,” intoned the lieutenant. Glailen watched them go with resignation. 

“Yes, For the Empire.” 

The lieutenant began leading the boys away. They cast repeated glances back at Glailen who elected to stay and watch them go for as long as he could. Upon reaching one of the tents erected around the site, the lieutenant pulled back the flap and beckoned the boys inside. They hesitated, looking back at the man who rescued them one last time. Glailen met their eyes and nodded. It was enough for the boys as they steeled themselves and turned away, disappearing within the tent. 

Would he see them again? Did he do enough for them? These were the questions that dogged Glailen’s mind as he looked away from the tent and began his journey to the landing zone where he could get transport back to Kaas City. He wasn’t surprised to be thinking the questions, only surprised that he wasn’t surprised. 

Once he had secured transport and was on his way back, Glailen pulled out his communicator to contact Darth Baras. Within moments a tiny blue figure of the imposing Sith lord appeared. 

“Apprentice.”

“Mission accomplished, Master,” Glailen stated, without preamble. The other Sith nodded.  
“Good. Time will tell if it was enough to keep the surviving slave leaders quiet.” 

A pause. 

“I trust you did your best to deliver the point?” Glailen looked away at the question, his mind turning to the scene he had left behind. 

“It was a massacre.” 

“Excellent,” replied Baras with the slightest hint of mirth in his tone. He looked away as well, appearing to consult a screen out of sight. After a moment he turned his attention back to Glailen. 

“There is a situation developing; I may have another task for you soon. For now, return to Kaas City immediately.” 

Before Glailen could respond the connection was cut. He remained staring at where his master’s image had been for some time before sighing resignation. It was a good thing Baras hadn’t told him to go anywhere other than Kaas City because Glailen was already looking forward to taking some time off after that mission. _At the very least, I hope the next mission is somewhat more appealing than killing slaves._ Despite the amount of truth in those words, Glailen knew also it was dangerous to have such thoughts. He was his master’s tool; he would do as told and be grateful for it. For now that was his life. 

Returning to the city was uneventful but for the fact the rain had finally begun to fall. The rhythmic sound of raindrops striking the hovercab tried to pull Glailen into slumber but he stubbornly refused it. He was a Sith and wasn’t going to be caught snoozing. When the cab came to a stop at Lord Haits Towers, Glailen got up and left in a hurry to try waking himself up. Inside, the man from earlier was gone and a woman now sat at the reception desk. Glailen walked straight for the nearest lift. The woman watched him out of the corner of her eye but didn’t try to stop him. Gratefully, Glailen watched the lift doors close and felt it begin to rise. He would finally get to see his new home. 

The hallway was quiet; not unusual given the time of night but it did put the Sith a little on edge. He kept expecting one of the doors to open and someone to rush out, demanding why he was there as though he didn’t have the right to be. Nothing of the sort happened and Glailen reached his room, swiping his key card and walking in. The first thing he noticed was Vette sprawled out on a T-shaped couch, lightly snoring. He only had a second to take in the image as, with his first step into the apartment, she suddenly shot up and her hands held a pair of blasters aimed at the doorway. She mumbled something indiscernible. 

“It’s okay, Vette, it’s just me,” stated Glailen in as soothing a tone as he could. One hand was on his lightsaber if the need rose. 

It took a moment for the words to register but when they finally did Vette lowered the weapons. She rubbed a hand over her eyes, trying to brush away the sleep that wanted to pull her under again. When she could see properly she sent a slightly embarrassed look at Glailen. It would have been hard for her to explain why she’d shot a Sith if he wasn’t still around to help. 

“Oh, hey, guess I fell asleep.” She offered a grin as she stretched out her arms. Glailen offered no immediate response, choosing instead to take a walk through the apartment. 

“Good to see you’ve made it back. In one piece?” The edge to the question wasn’t lost on Glailen. He nodded but didn’t look her way. It was a kind gesture that Vette took an interest in his well-being and he thought it was genuine. 

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.” 

There was a silence as Glailen continued looking around. After a moment, Vette got up from the couch but merely stood in place. Perhaps she felt uncomfortable sitting around while he wasn’t. 

“So I got some things. I didn’t go crazy but we have enough to eat for a few days,” supplied Vette in an effort to break the growing silence. Glailen glanced at her, took in her attire. 

“You bought some clothes for yourself. Other things as well, I imagine.” Vette looked almost surprised he’d noticed, then Glailen felt a flicker of worry. 

“Yeah, you said I could.” 

“Yes. I’m glad you did,” said Glailen, waving off the concern. Vette fought back a grin. She dropped down on the couch, apparently no longer concerned with enjoying the comfort. 

“Well, I’m guessing you’ll want some time to get familiar with the place. I’ll just be around.”

“I think I’ll actually get some sleep,” replied the weary Sith turning to the bedroom.0 

“Oh, right, that would be good too.” 

Glailen disappeared into the bedroom. There was only one. He wondered about that. If he was paying the rent then that was sufficient argument in his mind for getting the only bed but at the same time he didn’t feel right with Vette being required to go without. Maybe this wouldn’t be their home, or at least not hers. They could look into getting a place with two bedrooms or looking at prices for her to have her own apartment. Glailen didn’t mind downsizing either if need be. While nice, the current apartment was simply larger than he could imagine needing. It was, however, a worry for tomorrow. 

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Glailen placed his few things on the nightstand. Then he simply sat there staring at nothing but winding down. He sighed. Less than a day on Dromund Kaas and already he was wondering when his master would send him off to another world to do something more beneficial to the Empire. As opposed to hiding sabotage from within, of course. He also wondered when he could get into the field on an important front in the Empire’s ever present goal of expanding its influence. Given that he was no expert in espionage, the answer to that last one seemed clear to him. 

“When the next war starts.” 

The words came out as a whisper as though Glailen were worried if he said it loud enough he would start the war himself. Even as a whisper the words sounded incredibly loud to his ears. It was a foolish worry, but still. He had no qualms against fighting for the Empire – he eagerly awaited his next opportunity, in fact – but he didn’t want to be known as the one responsible for reigniting the conflict. Luckily that was highly unlikely to be the case. 

Sighing again, Glailen fell back onto the bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Perhaps what he needed was a decent rest. He should change out of his clothes though, before he dirtied the bed entirely. Before gathered the will to get back up, Glailen allowed his eye lids to slide shut for a moment.

 The pinging of his communicator got his eyes open again. Glailen shot upright, looking around confused. Who could be calling him? That was a dumb question though. But had he fallen asleep without realizing it? No, a quick look at his chronometer showed only a couple of minutes had passed since he sat down. It was simply bad timing for him. But, bad timing or no, he had to answer the call so he did. With the push of a button a small see-through figure of Darth Baras appeared before him.

 “Master.” Glailen spoke tonelessly, trying to match the blank mask he wore to keep the annoyance and irritation he felt from showing. 

“Apprentice,” greeted Baras distractedly. He wasn’t even focused on the person he had called but instead kept glancing away. 

“The situation I spoke of earlier has escalated. Come to my office at once. We’ll speak more then.” As he spoke the words, Baras turned his head aside, focusing on something else.

 _Can’t even be bothered to give me his full attention when assigning me a new mission._  

Glailen didn’t realize he was clenching his jaw shut until it started to hurt. He quickly flushed away the tension in his body before his master noticed. No anger, only control. Don’t show any insubordination. It didn’t matter what he thought or how his day had been; it was imperative he remember his place. 

“Of course, Master,” he said calmly. The connection abruptly cut off. Baras deigned not to waste further words. Glailen stared at his communicator for at least another minute before taking action. He gathered his things and left the bedroom. 

“Awake already?” asked Vette by way of greeting almost the very instant he opened the door. Glailen was about to mention he had only been locked away for a few minutes but stopped when he saw the grin the twi’lek wore. She was making a joke. Glailen forced himself to relax. Any frustration he may or may not have been feeling was not her fault. 

“Duty calls,” he answered. A frown formed on Vette’s face too fast for her to stop but she looked away quickly.   

“Great. Maybe his Sithiness has more slaves for us to kill.” Glailen would have to be the most oblivious person in the galaxy to not notice the bitterness in those words. But just as he noticed it he also knew where it stemmed from. Vette did not, however, know all the details and even as Glailen thought about that he found himself putting it into words. 

“Vette, those slaves I killed, they…they weren’t good people.” He hoped she would catch the meaning in his words. Vette opened her mouth to reply but stopped and shut it again. Frowning still, she turned away. Glailen could sense she wanted to argue but was too busying arguing with herself. She understood enough. 

“I won’t keep my master waiting,” Glailen said and began moving towards the door. 

“Hey, I’m coming too.” Stopping, Glailen turned and stared back at Vette. She had gathered her things and certainly had the look of someone ready for whatever came next. 

“Are you sure?” he asked. 

“You’re not leaving me here alone to…” Vette’s words trailed off as she looked away, brow furrowing in frustration. Glailen didn’t think it was directed at him but he couldn’t truly tell on this occasion. After a second to take a deep breath, his companion tried again. 

“You’re not leaving me here to play house maid every time.” If the surety in her words wasn’t enough, the conviction in Vette’s eyes would have been. 

“Alright.” 

The pair exited the room and made sure the door was locked before heading for the lift. What Darth Baras had for them next they would learn together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be honest, I didn't really know what I was going to do with this one; especially with Vette but I like how that turned out. Needed time to think it over but I already know exactly what I'm doing with the next few chapters. I'll just go ahead and get started on that, shall I? Cheers


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